Pathway to Japanese Literature

(I)

A single step beyond the gate revealed countryside so devoid of change that one could survey rice fields stretching as far as the eye could see—in these mountains where the air hung like pale blue silk, Chiyoko's family had lived for nearly twenty years. The doting father and rational mother were both so anxious about not straying from morality’s path, yet not irrational or emotional enough to actually do so. Both parents were skilled in calligraphy, poetry, song, and prose; the father had even excelled at sculpture in his youth, keeping sketches presentable enough to show others. Chiyoko’s household, having long sustained a lifestyle blending classical elements with unparalleled modernity, held ideologies so complex that outsiders could not even begin to imagine them.

Chiyoko, with a mind that conjured emotional, willful imaginings in the most unexpected corners, lived a luxurious and haughty-seeming existence surrounded by her two parents and servants.

In her eight-tatami-mat room—where three sides were built up with bookcases like fortress walls, Dante’s statue placed upon the desk and a picture of a peacock-feathered Utamaro doll adorning the space—Chiyoko would lean back in a leisurely rattan chair whenever she had free time, reading, writing, and thinking. While appearing utterly indifferent to her outward appearance, Chiyoko—with her complicated emotions and myriad preferences—would sometimes grow nostalgic for bygone matters to the point of bewilderment, or agonize over philosophical issues that she knew full well someone like herself could never comprehend however hard she tried. All the while being called an odd child by her parents, she would smile faintly in a manner suggesting profound depths, trusting in her own heart. Chiyoko had—if one were to describe her—a stocky build yet a face that wasn’t plump, a forehead resembling a man’s, nervous eyes, and hands with unusually small nails. Her ever-shifting expressions were a peculiar trait, yet she remained a woman who laughed with her whole face whenever she did so. It wasn’t that she didn’t care, but she didn’t fuss over her hair—she always kept it parted down the middle and tied back on both sides. She would often say that rather than overly showy kimonos, she preferred the comfort of stylish meisen silk with a crepe haori draped over it, favoring that soft, supple texture of the silk against her skin.

Around Chiyoko, who didn’t dislike people, many people came and went.

Just as a queen might recall each courtier by name only during audiences, there was not a single person who made Chiyoko think even briefly or ensured she wouldn’t forget them—they merely revolved around her in a distant circle. Among them, only three people drew their circle very close to Chiyoko—Shinobu of Iidamachi, Cousin Gen, and Engineer H—such were the people who existed. Shinobu was still a truly young and naive young master, having lost both parents and being cared for by a household of Chiyoko’s uncle. Chiyoko knew he was around twenty-one years old—at that age prone to affectation—a person excessively in love with love itself.

Chiyoko read all too clearly how this timid, socially inexperienced young man—merely because she was closest at hand and slightly different from ordinary women—was going through the motions of romance toward her, thinking to herself that the best part was being in love with love itself. Yet when she saw those trembling eyes of his or how he flushed at the slightest trifle, it all struck her as something hopelessly unkempt and unsightly.

The earnest and sensible Cousin Gen, though Chiyoko’s cousin, cared for her with an almost peculiar intensity,

“Take care of your health. Study hard.” It was he who spoke so persistently that Chiyoko grew weary of listening and furrowed her brow. Cousin Gen, though striving to conceal the emotions buried in his heart’s deepest recesses toward this woman he felt compelled to guide, had unwittingly been perceived by Chiyoko. Engineer H was a man whose hardships could be read in his worldly-wise yet disarming manner of speech. Two years prior, he had graduated from school, gone straight abroad, fallen ill, and returned; now ostensibly convalescing at home while tending only to essential duties—a precisely thirty-year-old man of nervous temperament and frail health, bearing a striking pale forehead and remarkably thick, soft-looking hair.

Chiyoko held a special sympathy and affection toward H. Engineer H—who often listened silently to others' conversations, speaking always in a mellow, rounded voice when he did talk, and possessing considerable skill in vocal music—was liked by most people as both an unguarded conversational partner for Chiyoko's intelligent mother within her household and someone who taught Chiyoko various matters. H had begun visiting this household around summer two years prior, when he started assisting with the father’s busy work, and by that winter—

“When we first met, we were both quite reserved, weren’t we?”

To such an extent was H—a bachelor managing both domestic and external affairs—that he even consulted the mother on minute economic matters. On a night when the wintry wind raged pitifully and the pale moon shimmered like water, there was a time when they talked until nearly dawn. Chiyoko’s father—a man quick to laughter, wearied by daytime bustle so that drowsiness soon overtook him come nightfall— “Ah, the joy of sleep in old age—I’ll have to decline any more excitement, I tell you. If I doze off here, Madam will give me an earful...”

He hunched his back in mockery and retreated to his bedroom, assuming an aged demeanor. The three of them sat in the tightly shut Western-style room, gazing at the stove’s crimson flames, their hearts unburdened as if they dwelled in a specially crafted realm. As the conversation shifted from one topic to another, Chiyoko—prone to excitement—found herself tearing up as if each ordinary word she uttered were seeping into the depths of her heart. H and Mother spoke of their younger days,

“Truly, someone like her lives in bliss, doesn’t she? Spending entire days reading and writing to the point people sigh ‘What a predicament!’—why, she’s never once known the bite of midwinter water.” Having said this, the mother looked at her daughter—swaddled in layers, wearing a contented expression as she idly swung her legs. “Truly, someone like Chiyoko-san lives in happiness, don’t you agree, Mrs.—could there possibly be anyone in this world who doesn’t experience sorrow or hardship……”

H said with a look as if he had suddenly been reminded of something—and as if a sore spot had been prodded. “Of course there isn’t, you know. No matter how wealthy or noble someone might be—such things do exist.” “It is precisely because there are sad and painful things that joyful and delightful things can come into being, you know.” “Don’t you agree?” “Mr. H, didn’t you teach me the very same thing when I said I was unbearably bored before? That the time when one can feel things strongly—whether joyful or sorrowful—is true happiness.” “Even Mother thinks so, don’t you agree? I truly believe that.” “There’s simply no use in living with emotions parched like a mummy’s, you know.” “The more joyful things and their very opposites there are, the more life is worth living—how much so…!”

“Because you’ve never truly experienced hardship, you think enduring sad and painful things can be done as easily as yawning. When it actually comes down to facing it, only someone with an exceptionally strong will and rational mind could endure such a thing—at best, someone like you would lose your mind the moment you encountered it.” “That’s absolutely true, isn’t it,” “As for me, I’ve grown quite accustomed to sad things since childhood, but even so—as proof that my mind remains unseasoned—there are times when trivial matters leave me utterly vexed, you know.”

“I’ve had so many hardships that I even became a Christian—though I’ve come to realize that ‘the world is a mass of hardships—and because they exist, good things can too,’ this half-baked understanding shatters in no time.”

H formed an unnatural smile on his rigid lips. "If it's something you can speak of, then say it—after all, you've already confided so many things to us."

Mother spoke solicitously to this still-young person burdened with many hardships.

“Yes, indeed. Shall I have you listen? But Mrs., you don’t much care for such things, you know.” “It’s quite all right—go ahead and say it now. Since I’m a bit older than you, I might just manage some elder-like sympathy.” “Thank you. Then please listen.” “Well, you see… It’s like this. As for me—though it feels strange to say it myself—there was a woman I’d been engaged to for five whole years.” “That was two years ago, wasn’t it? When I fell ill and was hospitalized, as if she had forgotten everything that had passed between us, she married someone else without so much as a word of explanation—not even a ‘How are you?’” “Well, you see—don’t you agree, Mrs.—if it were due to unavoidable circumstances, who could possibly say anything against it? I must have urged her myself. If she thought she’d be happy even after marrying—” “And yet she—solely because she wanted to live out her life in gaudy splendor—ignored her parents’ attempts to stop her and disregarded their warnings to go off to some wealthy man’s place.” “Whether she married or not is a separate matter—but five whole years, quite a long time, don’t you agree? To think that all this time, the woman I trusted with all my heart had such dirty, shallow thoughts… It’s truly beyond words—”

H, “If she were happy then I would rejoice—but that’s not how it turned out—it’s that she came here having exposed her ulterior motives.” “Being met with nothing but scornful glares from everyone she encounters—for a woman who had never experienced such treatment before, it must be an immense torment.” “Now she apparently writes letters filled with unpleasant feelings to her mother and such—having fallen into a dark hole from which she cannot escape, where she’s reduced to shedding tears and flailing about—it’s all become utterly hopeless…… And then today I unexpectedly ran into her.” “Dressed in such garish clothes, yet with a face like a corpse, you know.”

H walked about the room with his head bowed, speaking in a low voice. Chiyoko, tears streaming down her face,

“Oh, what a detestable person! If I were you, I’d curse her with every fiber of my being—I can’t begin to fathom how much! How does someone like that even continue breathing…” she declared as if it were her own grievance, cheeks flushing crimson. “Truly now—though such things may be commonplace in this world—I never imagined they could befall you. So you’ve remained solitary all this time? But please—find someone who’ll return your affection……”

Mother neither looked particularly surprised nor showed any extraordinary sympathy. Such behavior was perhaps characteristic of that year, and as for the psychology of someone who had experienced such things—things she neither observed closely nor had any reason to experience herself—Mother couldn’t clearly grasp it. Chiyoko had always wished that whenever she uttered the word “woman,” it would refer solely to those who—though tenderhearted—pledged themselves to lives of steely resolve, women who would remain alone until death should their endeavors fail—such were her ideals. If one couldn’t remain alone until death—if one lacked that very strength—then women like Oshichi, who could thoughtlessly create a world containing only herself and a man through sheer passion alone, were still preferable—such were the women Chiyoko favored.

A woman blinded by gold’s dazzling glare. A woman who abandoned a man writhing between life and death, casting him aside at this precise moment. As these thoughts formed, the face of that unseen woman congealed into a clump of hatred and fury, becoming something monstrously vile that danced before her eyes.

“What a detestable person! How could… When I think that someone like her exists among those called women—the same as me—I just don’t know what to do with myself, truly…”

“This has absolutely nothing to do with you.” “That may be so, but don’t you think so yourself, Mother?” “What kind of blood and brains must she have? Flesh even dogs and cats would turn away from—that’s what she’s made of.”

“That was improper of me, wasn’t it? It wasn’t a story to be told where you’re present, but I just…” “Oh, you get carried away so easily when something moves you…” Chiyoko, overly excited, listened absently to the conversation between the two as if from a distance. “You poor thing—why must it be this way? I really took to what you said earlier—I’ve become twice as fond of you as I was yesterday.”

Chiyoko said with swollen eyes. “Are you sympathizing with me?” “I truly thank you.” “But please don’t get too agitated—this whole affair ultimately serves as proof that I was a foolish spoiled youth, and I’m not so helpless as to end up in such circumstances…” As if driven by sorrowful resignation, H forced a pained smile. “Now Mrs., wouldn’t an ordinary man—having reached my age—quickly forget if cast aside by some woman? And aren’t there many jaded men who’d repeat such folly?” “But I simply cannot do that. When I first glimpsed what women truly are, they showed me the most shameful disgrace imaginable—something rarely witnessed.”

“That way is more noble.” “If cast aside by this woman, a man moves to another; if that one fails, then another—there are those who grow so jaded. Men don’t face societal consequences nearly as heavy as women do for such things.” “Were you to forget it entirely and marry to put everyone at ease, that would be for the best.” “Having such an experience once will prevent you from being so readily fooled by women hereafter.”

“If I were to be with someone, it would only be when there exists someone I truly desire. Until then, I’d rather remain living alone as a bachelor.” “But even when young people think well of each other, mistakes are all too likely—at an age when emotions precede all things…” “Even so, if both are sincere—truly to the point of abandoning everything—then how much happier they would be together.”

Chiyoko abruptly interjected, scrutinizing both faces. “But you see, when society progresses, everything ends up progressing strangely. In my day as a daughter, arguing with one’s mother was unthinkable—yet you’re truly a reckless sort, aren’t you?” “What do you mean by ‘reckless’? Tell me—do you really think I’m such a reckless wild boar of a warrior?” “Mother worries because your feelings and hers are completely opposed—that’s why you’ll sometimes misunderstand each other.”

“Do you truly think so?”

Chiyoko was silently watching the flames when suddenly—

“Oh, isn’t it beautiful? Truly!” she exclaimed. “What?” “The flame—oh, how beautifully it’s burning! It’s as if someone in a bright red kimono might emerge.” “You see, this is how you are—feeling such things is pointless. No matter how much I say it just wastes your nerves, you won’t stop. If you’re going to dwell on it again, you should stay quiet, but then you pop up out of nowhere—really!”

“You don’t have to say so much—just for today. If everyone were like me and didn’t think about money or kimonos, they could feel this pleasant too—I can’t tell whether I’m the strange one or if it’s the people of the world who are strange.” Chiyoko flew into a rage and said in a loud voice.

“You shouldn’t say such things—she’s concerned about you…”

“Yes, I understand that—but if I’m happier or more moved than others, there’s no need for concern…” “That’s not how it is. Parents—if their child seems happy, they worry they might be *too* happy; if they speak of beauty, they fear they’re *too* fixated on it. You should listen with gratitude—someone like me never had parents who worried about me even in my dreams. It’s a misfortune.”

H said this while siding with Chiyoko yet trying not to offend her mother’s feelings. Chiyoko was not so dull-witted as to be unaware of that sentiment. “Yes… uh,”

Though she had evaded with an ambiguous reply, to Chiyoko, H’s accustomed manner of speech and his comparative understanding of her own feelings—combined with what had just occurred—felt profoundly comforting and delightful. And she herself was thinking this and that.

"I am still young. Even if H says such things—someone approaching thirty probably wouldn't feel anything so carelessly—but even pretending to be worldly, he still seems naive." Chiyoko, as if taking on Mother's silence alone, asked H various questions. H admonished in a low, tight voice: "You should consider such matters lightly." "It's better to take all worldly affairs lightly—if things go even slightly well through this carefree approach, it becomes a thought close to truth. Unless we brush aside unseen things and matters that remain unclear despite pondering, creatures like humans couldn't survive."

“I utterly detest this notion of thinking half-heartedly.” “If I think earnestly or consult others, I can develop ideas approaching satisfaction—this kind of joy is truly...”

“That may be so, but when thinking too much doesn’t lead to understanding, one might want to retreat into the mountains or receive an invitation from Kegon Falls, don’t you think?” “Isn’t that right? Someone your age should be more carefree—you’ll end up becoming nothing but intellect.” H found it far from desirable that Chiyoko was entertaining such thoughts. He knew nothing good could come of a nervous, emotional woman becoming absorbed in philosophical matters. That particular night alone, Chiyoko’s words remained etched clearly in his mind.

“Hey Mr. H, what do you make of contemporary literature? As for me, I find it rather indulgent and unrestrained. I absolutely detest modern literature. That’s why I’m telling you not to get carried away by this girl either.” “That’s quite a complex matter.” “It’s like this. The other day when I was reading D’Annunzio’s *Triumph of Death*—Mother said she wanted to look at it, so I lent it to her. Then she remarked, ‘Is this what’s being so praised nowadays? Writing such things—that’s precisely why modern literature is detestable. First off, what’s written here is simply distasteful.’ So you see?”

Chiyoko explained since it seemed unlikely H could grasp how this conversation had sprung from such fragmented beginnings. “Ah, so that’s the context.” “I can’t claim full understanding myself, but as living conditions grow increasingly complex, daily affairs seem to take on richer hues—like pigments deepening. This holds true whether we speak of crimes or luxuries. Human psyches become like finely faceted crystal. Thus emotions ought to sharpen further—what we feel and write all turn into vivid, piercing things saturated with color.” “Hence emotions and phenomena beyond our imagination—we born in older times—now surface in literature too. That’s likely why it strikes one as overly exposed or delivers too visceral an impact...”

“Is that really so? That so-called *Triumph of Death* by what’s-his-name completely disregards morality, don’t you think? And then—if you’re in love with a woman, shouldn’t you just be wholeheartedly in love? Yet there he is peering at his own woman from every angle, getting delighted or angry all by himself—it’s hardly the first thing a young lady should be reading, is it?”

“You said the same thing back then too, didn’t you?”

Chiyoko said in a voice slightly frayed at the edges, as if declaring the futility of repetition itself. "When it comes to literature—if something appears morally flawless from every angle, something presentable to anyone without reservation—then it must indeed be a perfected work. But such paragons are scarce among humans, you see. And since each person harbors their own peculiar emotions and traits, matters rarely unfold so neatly." "Even were one to write a biography of Master Confucius or chronicle Jesus's life—materials impeccable by any measure—if executed poorly, it would lack true value as pure literature." "Better to write splendidly about Benten Kozo than produce some shoddy treatise on Confucius—that would hold greater worth." "When committing theft, there's sensation in the act itself; when stealing another's wife, particular emotions must surely arise—so if those minute sensations are keenly dissected and written with such visceral truth that they seep into the reader's heart as their own feelings, then that becomes true creative work. Isn't that so? Prose that vividly conveys sensation, passages that compel deep reflection—that's what I deem pure literature. Such achievements are profoundly difficult—even if works like Chikamatsu's cannot morally be shown to daughters, they still possess literary merit. I cannot help but revere works with such artistic value—though Mother vehemently opposes this view." "Yet this is what I believe..."

“I can’t really say which is which, you know—since I haven’t read any recent novels at all and haven’t given them much thought either, I can’t really make any definitive statements…” H said this in a low voice while deep in thought. Chiyoko disliked that vague answer. “Then what do you think?” “Is it like me… like Mother… or another……”

“I am thinking of very ordinary matters. As long as you don’t stray too far from the norm, I wouldn’t comment on this or that—after all, when it comes to worldly affairs, it’s necessary to proceed in an ordinary manner to some extent...”

“If that’s your opinion, then it’s a splendid one for mediating between Mother and me, eh?”

Chiyoko felt as though the residue of all she had pondered throughout the day had accumulated in a corner of her mind, weighing down one side until it seemed to tilt precariously. The clock was already pointing past two. While having raised the topic of conversation herself, Mother was dozing off comfortably, leaning against a corner chair with her pale face tilted.

“Hey Mr. H, doesn’t Mother look exactly like someone utterly devoid of carefree thoughts when she does such things?” Chiyoko said this while gazing at Mother’s serene face.

“The problem is you view Mother and everything else too critically—that’s why her actions seem strangely unpleasant or foolish to you…” “Is that so…” Chiyoko absentmindedly replied while twisting three strands of hair that had fallen before her eyes. Suddenly seized, her fingertips trembled, and an inexplicable round thing rolled out inside her head.

“Tonight, Mr. H—I like you so very much, though I don’t know why—but let’s sleep now. If I stay up any longer, my eyes will become hollow tomorrow…” “Then let us retire. Please rouse Mother gently now.”

Chiyoko woke Mother, who seemed to be in a good mood, and took her to the bedroom. And then she returned again,

“Let us turn off the gas and retire. There is a candle lit in your room. Since I shall now undo my hair, please go ahead—” “Ah—it was I who excited you today, was it not? You will surely forgive me, yes?” “There is truly no need to say such things—are you free tomorrow? Will you be drafting here again?” “I shall do it here—indeed, there remains little time—I will do it—”

The two lit a candlestick, and Chiyoko combed her hair with a stark white comb beside the faint light. When she let down her combed hair behind her and turned around, H was performing his customary bedtime prayer. After waiting for the prayer to conclude, Chiyoko,

“Good night. I’m sorry for keeping you up so late.” she said in a quiet tone. When Chiyoko locked the door, H—

“Don’t think too much and get some rest,” he said tenderly, gently placing a hand on Chiyoko’s back. Chiyoko headed to the dark room, and H to the faintly red-lit one visible through the candle’s glass—they parted ways with entirely different states of mind.

(II)

Even after changing into nightclothes and getting into bed, the lumpy hardened pillow feathers and disheveled blanket made it impossible for Chiyoko to settle her mind. When she closed her eyes thinking she must sleep, multicolored lights danced before her vision through thin eyelids. No sooner had Hedda’s lines resonated in Uraji’s voice amid the clamorous ringing in her ears than Ganjiro’s voice—reminiscent of Kamiji—reverberated. Fragments of passages she had deemed noteworthy in books read until now surfaced piecemeal.

The grievances and questions accumulated in Chiyoko’s mind spilled out, lining up one by one,

"Heh heh...phony..." After muttering this self-mockery and withdrawing inward, she became completely at a loss for what to do next. With a sudden jerk, she sat upright in bed and reached out to drink the chilled tea left on the table.

"I'm doing exactly what an old person would do." Chiyoko said as if laughing at herself and, in the dim electric light, looked at the plump chest and firm arms before involuntarily letting out a laugh. In the pale violet light, clad in a pink nightgown and toying with hair amidst the white bedding, Chiyoko seemed to herself more lovely and beautiful than her usual self. Fragments of beautiful connected words—neither quite song nor poem—came slipping out smoothly. While being considerate of the parents sleeping in the next room, she repeated them in a whisper and looked at the small glowing clock by the pillow. The long and short hands—whose duty was to inform people of the world's passage of time with a sound evoking mystery, as though threatening its flow—found the short hand at four while the long hand stretched well beyond halfway.

“I’ll get up once a little more time passes.” Chiyoko muttered to herself and buried her face in the fluffy feather pillow. While handling the thick cord’s tassel tied around her nightgown waist in her palm, she lost herself in wild fantasies. "The surroundings are quiet—I can think whatever I want without reservation—and the futon is soft and warm." Chiyoko found these thoughts immensely pleasing, and an irrepressible smile kept rising to her cheeks.

In moments of joy, as Chiyoko always did, she let out a light sigh and gently hugged her chest. At times she would adopt the composed demeanor of a woman versed in worldly ways; at others, she would affect the haughty bearing of a queen; and then again, as now, she would make gestures full of delicate curves that were unmistakably those of a young woman—these were among Chiyoko’s distinctive habits. "He said he’ll be drafting in that room tomorrow, and I should write the continuation. Mother can manage with sewing, chanting Noh verses, and reading books, and Father will go to the office... At tea time, I'll make milk sweets and give them to H with hot coffee."

With a buoyant, childlike innocence untainted by guilt, Chiyoko considered tomorrow’s tasks—her own, H’s, Mother’s—and envisioned H drawing lines across white paper on his drafting table with crisp, satisfying sounds. Beside him, at the marble table where roses stood arranged, she would transcribe the tightly coiled emotions seeping from her heart into words, even mentally sketching the hue of light that would fall through her expression at that moment. Chiyoko, who typically stayed up all night and slept late into the morning, wished only tonight for the faint dawn to arrive early; thinking how she wanted this tomorrow—which she would greet with such joyous feelings—to quickly open its eyes, she drew the curtain with its bold pattern.

The scenery outside, hazily bright like the eyelids of a child beginning to awaken, possessed a tenderness, thoughtfulness, and nobility that Chiyoko—a habitual late riser—had scarcely experienced until now. As if touched by spiritual energy, as if something grand had been thrust into her head, Chiyoko gazed at the scenery outside. Before a majestic backdrop unlike any she had ever seen, the Nymphs and Satyrs that were ceaselessly depicted in Chiyoko’s mind could be seen emerging from the shade of leaves with light steps to dance. The clear resonance of Apollo’s silver strings blended with the deep bells from unfathomable valley depths to form beautiful music; the singing voices of mountain sanrōra combing with golden combs—such an utterly imagined, beautiful, serene illusionary picture scroll unfurled before Chiyoko.

Tears streaming down her face, Chiyoko kneeled; joy surged forth like crashing waves of the tide.

Immersed in the mystical hues of dawn, she prostrated herself and offered thanks and praise to the unseen. While gazing intently upward, Chiyoko stood up.

Her body—trembling faintly with indescribable joy and a throbbing chest—was wrapped in a pale pink nightgown with long tassels and pristine white tabi socks that clung snugly; having coiled her meticulously combed hair around her neck and lit the celadon candleholder, even unlocking the room's exit with a silver-glinting key and stepping into the corridor where tree shadows stretched felt utterly sublime. When she had progressed halfway, Chiyoko unraveled her bound hair, concealed her face with half its length, thrust the light forward, and advanced with gliding steps.

Walking through this place in such attire and such a state of mind at such a time felt like punctuating a long-continued passage from a stage scene.

She wanted to utter a single, perfectly fitting word. But rather than risk ruining everything with some mundane, worthless words, Chiyoko stood before the Western-style room in silence, clutching her heaving chest.

A pale red light flickered within the glass; a black human figure remained motionless; a soft singing voice seeped through the door’s gap.

“Oh…” That he should be doing something so perfectly aligned with her present mood—Chiyoko felt such delight that there remained no space to remark whether this was still an hour when others slept, nor to wonder what song he sang.

With a handle that glowed like opal, she gently opened it. In the pale blue dawn light streaming in, a stand with a pink shade was lit; from the freshly colored firewood, bright red flames flickered as if paying homage. On the thick carpet where a purple cushion had been laid out, H sat casually watching the fire and singing. The shell buttons on his chest glimmered grandly; the back of his navy-and-brown-striped nightgown—identical in shape to Chiyoko's—swelled outward.

As if she had forgotten to extinguish the candle, Chiyoko remained standing there. H abruptly turned around and said with a surprised look.

“What’s happened? At this hour—” “I wasn’t able to sleep.”

“Can’t sleep?” “I couldn’t either. That’s why I came here earlier and have been like this.” “Yes—but isn’t this dawn splendid? I’ve been in my room since before, thinking all sorts of joyous thoughts!”

Chiyoko said in a buoyant voice, as though she had completely forgotten that one must sleep at night. And then she brought a Rashia footstool near the fire, sat down on it, and neatly aligned her two feet wrapped in white fur. The pink kimono flowed smoothly and gently, its tassels aligned with H’s brown and navy striped ones, forming artistic colors and shapes. The two of them fell silent for a while and listened to the crackling sound of the firewood.

“Will we be exhausted tomorrow?” H asked in a tone that seemed genuinely concerned. “Such a thing couldn’t happen! You know—I was thinking just now how you’ve made me feel happier about this dawn than ever before! At tea time I’ll treat you to something delicious—really!” “It’s quite a foolish notion, but I was being perfectly serious earlier.” “Thank you—but truly now—you’re making me far too agitated.”

“Since I’m happy right now, please stop saying such things—truly! I’m so delighted I scarcely know what to do with myself.” “How splendid—you see, those bathed in happiness find even unpleasantness delightful in the end. Though I may sound peculiar—will you answer my question?” “If it’s permissible...” “Then tell me—what manner of man do you judge me to be?”

“What kind of—well, I do think you’re a rather emotional and sensitive person, yet someone who strives to act as though nothing is amiss.” “And then—in this world, there are things one either conquers or becomes utterly captivated by.” “You’re someone who conquers most things—even if it’s a bit forced or you’re on the verge of being captivated—you can’t rest until you’ve conquered them; someone who loves life intensely yet is quite prone to sorrow. If I’m mistaken—”

“Does it seem that way? Then—do you like me? Or do you dislike me?” “Even someone I like—there are times when, depending on my mood—I might not want to look their way at all, you see—so I can’t say clearly—but... I do like you.” “Like?” “Yes—certainly—but if you keep asking ‘Do you like me? Do you like me?’ like that—I might come to dislike you—”

Chiyoko said such things and laughed. “Why would you ask that?” She spoke with a smile still lingering on her lips. “No particular reason—I simply wondered.” “I see…” The firewood began burning even more vigorously than before. Both H’s and Chiyoko’s faces flushed red, their eyes and hands and features—still untouched by worldly cares—appearing far whiter and purer on them both than in the grimy daylight.

“My hands are a bit cold, aren’t they?”

Chiyoko protruded her white, roundish hand slightly from her long sleeve and said. “Let me see? You’ve truly been forsaken by God. ‘Oh merciful heavenly god, I humbly beseech you to grant my plea: from now on I shall never stay up late nor read excessively, so please warm these cold hands.’” H made a light, playful gesture and planted a brief kiss on the back of Chiyoko’s hand that lay in his.

“Do you think your prayer will work? How very dubious!” Chiyoko said as though it were nothing. For Chiyoko—who had grown accustomed to being first kissed on the forehead by her father each morning upon waking, then by her mother, before beginning her day’s work—H’s kiss too seemed nothing more than an older person’s jest. The pale blue light of dawn gradually took on a reddish hue, and the windowpanes began to glimmer.

The room became so hot from the sun’s warmth and the firewood’s red glow that it was almost dizzying. Chiyoko found it truly painful that this dawn—so joyful and so mystical—would give way to the clamor of daytime. “Mr. H and Miss Chiyoko, your bath is ready.”

Beginning with the maid—her Western-style bun slipping down her forehead—thrusting her cow-like neck out from the window to speak, the ethereal beautiful thoughts that had enveloped Chiyoko began shattering.

“Yes.” After giving a disinterested reply, as though begrudgingly,

“It’s daytime again, isn’t it? The time has come to put a mask over my own heart.”

With that, she kicked the hem of her nightclothes. Even though Chiyoko hadn’t slept a wink in the bathhouse, washing her face and hands now struck her as an utterly ridiculous, perfunctory task. The earlier emotion seemed to have been scrubbed away by soap bubbles tinged with rainbow-like light that clung all the way to her wrists, transforming into something as full of gaps and as worn-out as a tiled roof seen at high noon.

The morning was spent passing time on trivial matters; from the afternoon onward, H became busy while Chiyoko, caught up in her writing, continued until dinner. As usual, no conversation arose, making for an utterly ordinary day.

At dinner, since Father was late due to a meeting, Mother always sat in his seat and ate while, “Mr. H, Father did say that since you’ll be getting busier and it’s rather inconvenient to come and go late at night anyway, it would be best for you to stay here entirely for what is after all just a month or two—and I agreed that was a good idea. That’s acceptable, isn’t it?” “I see, but isn’t this imposing on you? Even I…”

“How could there be such a thing, right? Then it’s settled—I’ve already decided!” “Then I shall accept that arrangement—though it pains me to impose…” “Oh, oh, it’s no trouble at all.”

It seemed that without Chiyoko’s knowledge, her father had made such arrangements, and from that very day, H ended up staying permanently. Chiyoko listened to that conversation with a somewhat awkward feeling.

(III) Day after day, H and Chiyoko spent their time doing the same things as that day. They passed their days debating away hours, reading through books, writing through pages, and thus spent the entire month of December.

As evening drew near one day, H said to Chiyoko: "Now isn't it pitiful being unmarried? If you yourself don't handle your New Year kimono arrangements, there's no one to do it for you."

Chiyoko, who was listening with wrinkles gathered at the corners of her eyes, said while rolling a bright red pen across the manuscript paper. “How pitiful. This year, why not have Mother take care of it? And then there’s no need to specially create a man, right?” “Because even removing the basting from a freshly tailored kimono feels so refreshingly new—don’t you think even a man like me can have rather delicate feelings?”

“Well, relatively… But if I return to Okitsu, Mother is there…” “Once this settles, I’ll go briefly—I’ll surely visit Chikugyū’s grave and send you a postcard!” “Why did you limit it to a postcard? You’re fussing over such trivial consideration.” “Since Mother will open them regardless of me anyway, isn’t it the same whether it’s a letter or postcard?”

“Truly, she’s more strict and neurotic than other mothers, isn’t she.” “Oh yes, oh yes—she measures emotions as precisely as with a ruler and compass! And what’s more, she’s someone who irrationally fears letters and telephones…” “In any case, anyone would see your emotions as diametrically opposed to hers—isn’t that so? We can’t say you’re right or Mother’s wrong—it’s simply her nature, you see…”

“Emotional clashes between mother and daughter shouldn’t occur much in principle, but being so self-willed as I am, sometimes they even get started, you know…” “Still now, as one obligation you must remain docile toward Mother… Considering her as a woman, she has considerable education and cultivated common sense.” “Yes yes, I know that—but I can’t mask my emotions and constrict myself before others! These feelings weren’t born for others’ sake—they’re mine!”

“It’s not about suppressing emotions or anything like that—but shouldn’t you think of it as something you must do to reassure parents who rejoice or grieve over their child’s every move…?” “There are times when I myself think that way and strive to do so. “But suppose I’m caught in some fleeting emotion and say, ‘My, Mother’s earlobes are lovely—such a beautifully translucent color!’ Then immediately I’m told, ‘Stop spouting nonsense like a madwoman!’ When you’re in that dazed state and hear such words, it’s exactly like watching a gorgeously made-up kabuki actor leaping about the stage in splendid headgear—then suddenly, as if pine resin snaps free from bamboo, he tumbles headlong and the wig flies off to reveal a bald, pasty-faced performer beneath.” “I become utterly helpless on my own, you see—and once that happens…”

Chiyoko said in a resigned tone and, seeing H continuing to draw lines on the white paper, gripped the pen again.

After a while, Mother,

“You’re being quite diligent—why don’t we pause for a moment? Tea will be ready shortly.”

With that, she came in. Chiyoko turned slightly and saw discolored gums in a smile and scalp peeking through parted bangs. Overcome by having been shown something repulsive, she faintly furrowed her brows and lowered her eyes back to the paper. The sound of Mother discussing some new woman behind her grew unbearably jarring, and though she knew it would inevitably draw a "Stop that," she turned to the piano and began playing Beethoven's sonata.

Whenever she heard the occasional voice calling her "that child," she stomped on the pedal without caring that it threw the rhythm into disarray. With a mind straying into discordant rhythms, even as I played the piano, I recalled for no reason the final scene of Hedda. Though it had nothing whatsoever to do with me—recalling that pistol shot which followed upon those discordant tones resembling this sound—I shuddered and stopped my hands; Chiyoko felt heavy-hearted as though something ill were about to occur. Even when doing nothing but stringing together characters all day, she ended up spending it in restless irritation that refused to settle.

At bedtime, H said to Chiyoko,

“Once about a week has passed, I think I’ll make a brief trip—the postcard—” With that, H laughed abruptly, as if hurling the sound into the air.

Chiyoko did not respond to that and instead giggled—a soft, mirthless sound—feeling as though she had intruded where she shouldn’t.

Having spent nearly a month without being apart, Chiyoko had come to notice H’s nature and habits quite well. A tenaciously neurotic person who could reinterpret even his past bad, sad experiences as good ones; someone who, while bound by daily life, could occasionally live as if detached and observe himself; a man of strong confidence; someone who viewed women through dual lenses; someone dazzled by the contradiction-filled brilliance of his own heart—Chiyoko came to know such things as inherent traits.

Playing with his haori cords like toys; When leaning back in an armchair, he would invariably rest both arms on it and interlock his fingers near his chest; His dislike of drinking tea from rice bowls; His excessive preoccupation with basting threads; His tendency to blink frequently when laughing; The way he would always look up upon entering any room; His habit of pulling at fingertips— These habits, while not particularly conspicuous, defined him. Even knowing all these quirks, Chiyoko found herself unable to dislike him. The clarity of his bright voice that rounded every word, the absence of that oily sheen common to men even in his finest skin pores—these details pleased her peculiarly well.

Chiyoko was aware that Mother had grown even more cautious since H began staying with them, but she paid it no mind and lived as though determined to do only what she herself deemed necessary.

As evening approached, what Chiyoko had written had reached about halfway, yet neither the phrasing nor the emotions brimming within could bring her satisfaction. The more she looked, the more flaws emerged until she grew disgusted even at glancing upon it; thereafter, day after day, she carried herself with a pent-up air—laughing yet lapsing into sudden bouts of intense preoccupation.

“It’s because you’re here that I can’t write as I wish.” or, “I’m truly on the verge of tears—though I shouldn’t be such a coward just because having you here makes me unable to let them fall…” Amidst countless scribbled drafts, resting her chin in hand, she declared these things in an irritated, shrill voice. “I suppose I won’t see you until evening—so I’ll write with all my might.”

Shut herself away in the chilly tearoom and wrote at the sutra desk—that too was around that time. Though the willful Chiyoko would at times display conduct unbefitting toward her elders, H knew—and Chiyoko too caught glimpses—that some part of him found satisfaction in this very fact; that beneath his interest in one whose maturity resided solely in intellect, there grew with crisp clarity an emotion of an altogether different nature.

Shortly after New Year's arrived, H returned to Okitsu.

Chiyoko looked with mocking eyes at those who clamored needlessly about “New Year’s this, New Year’s that” and those who exchanged hollow “Happy New Year” greetings with mere lip service, yet she herself wore her newly prepared layered silk kimono and did not think it unpleasant—the lively rustle of its splendid hem at the slender toes of her tabi socks cheerfully swaying. Around the time of the Seven Herbs Festival, Chiyoko was finally able to attain a state of mind that was unwavering—unflagging. Chiyoko, who had burned her own manuscripts to ashes for the first time, watched as ten or twenty sheets of paper were cast into the flames. She saw the colorless core of the fire rising from them, then the still-unconsumed red flames beyond it—and at the very outermost layer, a faint pale bluish-purple hue burning with all their might, purely and without mixture, as if receiving oxygen exactly as desired. These flames, full of heat and intent, seemed to gather at the depths of her heart, ascending like a single-hued blaze within a mind now free of impurities. Chiyoko, who would usually grow sad upon seeing tangible ashes of written words take form, could now watch the sighing remnants of ash—still retaining their shape—crumble away with a faint smile, sustained by a joy and strength surpassing that sorrow. Draped over her vibrant silk kimono was a meisen haori with ink-stained sleeves and cuffs, and in the deliberately fireless room, she earnestly traced each character one by one. The fact that she could write thirty or forty pages a day without revising a single line left Chiyoko—prone to becoming absorbed—so quiet throughout the day with faint smiles and sighs that one could scarcely tell if she was there at all.

Mother, who knew her habits, tactfully declined invitations to karuta gatherings and New Year’s parties without informing Chiyoko.

With a healthy gaze and complexion, she studied diligently day after day. In the three or four letters H had sent were written accounts of his tranquil life there, his mind seemingly tempered into clarity through hardship, and the vexation of receiving persistent marriage advice. The letters were neither particularly remarkable nor useful, yet Chiyoko slipped them between magazine pages and left them undisturbed. Even if Chiyoko hadn't been profoundly moved by H, she couldn't deny that her life now carried a subtly altered hue.

“How strange.”

There were times when she would suddenly utter it with the unsettled feeling of a frog at the start of its leap. Chiyoko, who had gone to the bookstore that afternoon amid a rather capricious wind, returned and placed three or four rather heavy parcels on the table. As was her habit, she immediately surveyed the entire room before abruptly brushing her hand against—and then picking up—the magazine containing H’s letters, though there was no particular reason to do so. The letters were tucked in a different place than before, and the way they were rolled had loosened slightly.

“Mother saw it!” Chiyoko smiled thinly at this thought and, still holding the magazine, imagined her mother’s demeanor at that moment. Around the time I had left for the tram, Mother must have come here—her brows furrowed in restless agitation as she roughly inspected the desk drawers and peered into the empty shelves of the bookcase. After heaving a small sigh tinged with disappointment, she settled into the rattan chair and surveyed the book-filled room. Absentmindedly picking up this nearby magazine—oddly swollen—Mother frowned slightly before opening it as one might confront something fearsome. Letters lay inside. A nervous glint flashed in her pupils as she began reading intently, determined not to overlook a single line. Within were mundane accounts of daily life, admonitions for Chiyoko to take care of her health, and appeals to be considerate of Mother herself. Slightly reassured, she read through them again from the beginning. Now fully at ease, she rolled up the letters while thinking: “Even if she finds out and protests… What does it matter? I’ll simply say it’s a parent’s right to supervise.”

Unaware that three sheets had come loose, she tucked them back into their original place between the pages, lightly tapped the cover with her finger, hurried out to sit before the chest, and thought “She’ll return soon…” while checking the clock. Such things rose clearly before her eyes.

Unhooking her gloves, “Mother, was there anything that changed while I was away just now?” Chiyoko sat down squarely before Mother and gave a mischievous smile.

“You must’ve been cold—and of course nothing’s changed in such a short time, has it? It was barely a moment—” Mother readjusted her momentarily slackened lips. “I know.” I thought to myself. “Oh Mother... Hehehe.”

In Chiyoko’s heart, what her mother thought and felt were reflected more vividly than any mirror could show—imbued with myriad hues and lights. Motionless, she watched the twitching eyebrows and lips that seemed to suppress a smile—though feeling somewhat guilty—as within Chiyoko there welled up a mingled sensation of mild amusement and gratitude toward one who worried about her so deeply. “Mother, rest assured—it’s perfectly fine, such a thing!”

Chiyoko said while laughing. "Oh well—anyway, you'd better change. Your kimono should be on the kotatsu as I instructed."

“Alright then, I’ll go change. Not that it matters today—even if calls do come through, we’ll just refuse them anyway… right?” While Chiyoko muttered these words to herself, Mother busied herself attaching the inner collar of the kimono. She decisively put on the warm garment, shut herself in her room, and began reading through the newly purchased books while marking them with red lines.

In the evening, a call came from her aunt in Iidamachi saying, "Since we're inviting people from the hospital tonight, come help us," and sent word. Mother forced the reluctant Chiyoko to have her hair done up, dressed her in her most becoming navy-striped silk kimono, put her into the car, and sent her off.

(4)

When she arrived after being jostled in the car for thirty minutes, rows of men's geta cluttered the entranceway. From the hall came waves of boisterous male laughter—that particular brand of guffaw belonging to men—through which pierced her aunt's voice, clear and ringing like a glass bead. The maid who had emerged from the tea room at the sound of footsteps exclaimed "Oh welcome!" while her eyes swept from Chiyoko's face down to the color of her inner sleeves in one appraising glance. By the time she urged, "Everyone's been waiting eagerly—do come this way," her attention had already dropped to inspect the embroidered patterns on the straw sandals arranged over the stepping stones. Though Chiyoko still fumbled with her gloves, they hustled her toward the hall. Sliding the shoji open just enough to whisper something to Aunt, the maid then pressed silently against Chiyoko's back while closing the screen behind them, scurrying off with footsteps that rustled like parched reeds. Through the lavender-tinged haze of cigarette smoke, countless eyes turned her way—yet she showed neither enough shame to blush nor sufficient composure to lower her gaze.

“This is my niece from Hayashimachi. Please treat her kindly.” While briefly glancing at Chiyoko, Aunt introduced her to everyone. She scooted forward about two knee-lengths—slightly lower than her aunt had done—and with a laugh performed a bow appropriate to the occasion. “I see… Well, this is…” “We’ve heard much about you.” “They say she’s some sort of acquaintance from Shinhanamachi.” Many voices uttered such remarks, yet among them all, not one person spoke words sufficiently composed to make Chiyoko feel inclined to respond. With the poised demeanor of someone past thirty and deliberate mental posture, Chiyoko began observing the approximately twenty men arrayed before her.

Every single one of them appeared to be precisely the sort who would endlessly repeat about five stale jokes they knew nothing beyond—the type to make others think “Oh ho!” They each bore that peculiar flaccid demeanor characteristic of doctors—some sporting long beards stiff as wire while others displayed short ones trimmed in the current fashion—shadow-like pretentious whiskers lined up one by one. A sharp-eyed man acting half-hearted, a pretentious connoisseur-wannabe, someone perpetually stroking his chin while chuckling “Eh heh heh” reminiscently, a fellow tugging his kimono collar between forefinger and middle finger with squeaky noises—slightly yanking his hakama’s lower front before smartly smacking its cord knot—with all these specimens present, could there truly exist anyone who’d willingly marry into such households? They all seemed exactly that breed of people. While maintaining a smile at her lips’ corners, she clicked her tongue with a “tsk” and shot a glance at her aunt’s profile.

After the cups began circulating, the men’s behavior appeared nothing but increasingly undisciplined and foolish. Here and there, they called out “Miss” in slurred voices. Among them was even a man who addressed her with such a shockingly inept term as “the Mrs.’s niece”—so absurd it could make one drop dead. Chiyoko watched a man—his hands trembling drunkenly as he clutched a cup still brimming with sake—spill liquor in ragged splashes across his hakama down to his knees like slashed fabric. When he flusteredly tried to wipe it, his sleeve tip dipped into the bowl instead. She made no move to assist, her brows furrowed and back teeth grinding audibly as she glared. (It’d be better if these men’s wives just spent year-round dragging their tucked kimono hems about in glossy-sleeved garments, knowing nothing beyond nibbling salted peas and drawing silly characters in brazier ashes whenever they had a spare moment.) Such thoughts filled her mind. Having made three sake stains on the tatami mats, the meal came to an end.

“Let’s play karuta in the next room.”

At Aunt’s suggestion, the men entered the adjacent room with shambling steps. Chiyoko leaned against a pillar observing the men’s large hairy hands fumbling clumsily for cards when Aunt pressed her to join them. “Do your utmost now, I implore you!” The pallid man seated beside her spoke these words while attempting to strike Chiyoko’s rounded shoulder with a hand whose grimy nails ill-suited his showy manner; she jerked her torso aside, leaving him propped on one elbow in a laughably trivial pose.

Chiyoko swept her absurdly small white-nailed fingertips across the space before her as if seized by a fit of pique. Amidst the reddish-brown hairy hands pointlessly flailing about, her own hand—adorned with rings that accentuated rubies and diamonds—sliced through the cards with fluid precision; moreover, her skin gleamed pale while her nails shone cherry-blossom pink. Chiyoko felt a radiantly imperious emotion—like a queen subduing foolish subjects with those white hands, or like a lioness thrusting her chest forward as she strode through a herd of spineless beasts.

Chiyoko knew the men were achingly eager to make her clown about. One man tried tickling Chiyoko only to get pinched back, another deliberately collided with her yet wound up on his backside. Why must men insist on such nauseating buffoonery at gatherings like this? She felt an unpleasant sensation as if manhood's most repulsive aspects stood fully exposed. Without conscious intent, she found herself recalling H's lofty clear forehead, the solid muscles of his neck, and that rounded voice of his.

A little past ten o'clock, Chiyoko could no longer endure it and declared she would return home. Though her aunt's attempts to stop her had proven futile, there was naturally no chance those men's words would make her stay now. Wrapping a white fur boa about herself and pulling on black gloves, Chiyoko stepped into the sandals that glittered across the stepping stones. The men went out to see her off, leaning against one another. After boarding the carriage,

“Goodbye, everyone.” Chiyoko said with a laugh that held nothing but hollow politeness. “Thanks to you, I had a most delightful time.” “Let us meet again someday.” “You’re simply marvelous!” There was also a man who bellowed something in a booming voice.

Chiyoko’s still relatively young rickshaw puller hung a lantern from the shaft while,

“Heh heh heh” The rickshaw puller’s laughter made Chiyoko feel mocked as never before. Her heart had become like water—startlingly calm yet rippled with faint tremors—having escaped the commotion. The pale sparks occasionally scattering in the dark sky and the blue-and-red town lights twinkling shyly possessed such poetic, mystical radiance that one could scarcely believe humans dwelled within their glow. Chiyoko thought she wanted to tread such a path in her *setta*. The carriage bounced along the softly swollen road, accompanied by the clinking sound of pebbles occasionally striking the silver wheels and the light patter of *tabi* soles racing across the ground.

Those sleep-inducing sounds coalesced into a single piece of music that stroked the drum curtain. When she raised her eyes with a sudden sensation as if her earlobe had been tickled, she realized she had nearly dozed off. Having become utterly and carefreely giddy, Chiyoko, upon arriving home, immediately clung to her mother and, “You’re quite the strange one, aren’t you?”

While being told this, she fell asleep with an innocent expression.

“Ah, that’s right—a postcard came from Okitsu earlier saying H will return tomorrow night.” “Oh, have you already gone to sleep?” She listened dreamily to Mother’s low voice.

V

H, who had returned from Okitsu, now had a remarkably improved complexion and lively eyes. He gave Chiyoko a picture postcard of Mr. Takayama’s grave and some sightseeing cards. “You must have gotten plenty of studying done.” H said with a laugh. “Oh, you shouldn’t say such things!” In that moment, Chiyoko thought this was exactly the sort of remark anyone—any woman—would make in such a situation, and “Yeah, yeah, you certainly got plenty of studying done.”

After he said that, she thought there wasn't much difference between using such phrases and retorting "As if that could ever happen," then gave a bitter smile. "You've darkened that forehead I love so much."

Chiyoko said with concern. “Don’t be foolish—you shouldn’t say such things, people will think something of you—” Mother shook her hand violently sideways as if to erase the words she had interrupted with, making a grand grimace. They talked until quite late about the beautiful scenery and how her sister had grown. As she listened, before Chiyoko’s eyes floated a vision of H walking along a desolate winter beach—boats lying belly-up on the shore, their nets spread thinly across the sand—drawn by the roar of powerful waves as he pondered distant matters. It seemed so pleasant that she wanted to be buried in Mr. Takayama’s grave herself. H said such a thing at the stepping stones of the entrance upon leaving.

“I’ve become unable to tell which one is my own home, you know.” The image of H returning to a dark house where no one awaited him—having to lie down on the futon laid out by the maid without uttering a single word, in silence—overwhelmed Chiyoko. “Still, that’s not so bad.” Having said such incomprehensible things, “Miss, it’d be just perfect if you married into Mr. H’s household.”

She recalled how the maid had once said with a smirk. That night, Chiyoko dreamed of thousands upon thousands of leaping things enveloping and tumbling about her body, waking her early in the morning. The next day when H came over and worked on his drafting, he discussed a wedding story similar to what he had written about in his letter to Chiyoko. “Even if I tried to love that woman, I couldn’t,” he said. “She’s your sort who thinks money rules the world—the type who’d trade her husband for a golden Buddha without hesitation... A woman fond of gaudy fashions, with this disgustingly bold streak about her.”

Saying such things, H spoke nonchalantly while laughing, as if recounting someone else's story. For three or four days now, nights that Chiyoko couldn't shake off had continued. Tormented by bad dreams, fits of excitement, or bouts of deep thought—whenever she dozed off, dawn would often find the night already passed. That being constantly nettled by her surroundings, her emotions swinging too wildly, the heaviness in her head and her inability to eat—Chiyoko herself recognized these were no ordinary matters.

Day after day she felt chased by countless things she had to write—not knowing where to begin, becoming so overwhelmed her hands would freeze, rewriting passages she'd already completed—until even Chiyoko's normally sensitive mind grew severely disordered; her complexion turned ashen, eyes sunken deep in their sockets.

“This is what comes from overdoing it—quit school already and get yourself sorted out, shouldn’t you?” With an anxious look in her eyes, Mother fretted and made more of a fuss than even Chiyoko herself. The doctor who knew Chiyoko’s constitution well compounded a medicinal plaster without examining her. Then the substitute doctor who answered the phone snickered and said, “If you take this daily and go to bed by nine o’clock, it should heal in ten days—so they say.”

“What’s this? They’re treating me like a fool—what would happen if I became gravely ill and died suddenly?”

Even when H tried to calm her down, she became so enraged that she wouldn’t listen to anything Mother said. “That’s also because of the illness.” Mother said probingly and touched her forehead. The next morning, after collapsing from intense dizziness, she ended up lying completely still on the bed. Disliking being in disarray despite lying down during the day, she had the maid spread out the freshly Western-style laundered bedding, bring out the pillow with dried feathers, and sprinkled a little rose perfume on the collar of her purple velvet nightgown. And within that, she lay down wearing a daringly long-sleeved merino yuzen kimono secured with a decorative obi sash, her hair completely let down. At her bedside, she lined up her favorite books and placed a decorative paper-patched pillow screen.

Hugging the poetry collection of someone she was madly infatuated with, she lay half-asleep yet oddly alert, her eyes fluttering between narrowed slits and full closure. Though neither thinking nor acting, her mind felt ravaged as if she'd pulled consecutive all-nighters for a week—so spent that lifting her head from the pillow alone proved arduous, while kaleidoscopic whirlpools churned ceaselessly behind her eyelids. When night fell, her fever spiked to nine degrees. Boiling water seemed to bubble and roil inside her skull, yet Chiyoko lay motionless with eyes wide open, gradually dissolving into mental haze. Muttering fragmented grievances under her breath like incantations, she finally drifted off wearing an expression that had shed all worldly awareness. Until morning light roused her, not even dreams came visiting.

As soon as she got up,

“Even though I slept soundly last night, my head feels unbearably heavy.”

Chiyoko said in a discontented voice.

“It might be due to the mild morphine in the medicine you took before sleeping, and given how last night went, there’s no reason you’d recover so suddenly today.” Mother carefully explained. A faint smile floated onto Chiyoko’s cheeks as she silently shook her head. Into her quick-associating mind sprang visions of those who never woke from morphine-induced slumbers, Poe’s Premature Burial, Juliet’s fate.

"Suppose that I ended up appearing completely dead from overly strong morphine." The people I knew would cry while doing everything exactly as I had instructed them beforehand—combing my hair long, dressing me in the most becoming kimono, packing flowers all around my body, then placing inside the glass coffin decorated with silver fittings my favorite rings or two, along with some writings and books. Then I was buried in the earth; ten days passed before I abruptly came back to life, my body now brimming with even greater vitality and beauty than before. When I emerged from the soil, my first shock came from how pale my complexion had grown. Then I went home. The family would surely collapse like those people who believe in ghosts—after carefully looking at my feet,

“Oh, are you really my Chiyo?”

Mother said while trembling, trying to hold her hands and stroke her face. "And oh, how great would their joy be when they believed it was truly me?—"

Chiyoko imagined such things. That day, for some reason, she kept trying to quietly conceal the act of thinking about the exertion from when she broke the glass coffin, the unsightly state she had been in at that time, and again, the indescribably tense facial expressions and complexions from trying to escape through the earth, along with the terrifying shapes of hands clawing at the soil.

After that, Chiyoko had been lying in bed for about three days. During that time, though H had been drafting in the Western-style room as usual, she felt an unsatisfying void in being unable to observe these aspects that seemed inseparable from her own life: his comical manner of entering at teatime with black tea and sweets on a silver tray deliberately held at eye level; his loud laughter at childish trifles; the intent gaze when he put on a serious face to discuss weighty matters; or the faint smile playing on his lips. While sharpening his pencil, he would sometimes suddenly recall Chiyoko’s fluttering gesture—the way she’d flick her hands out with such abandon. At such times, H would always wrinkle the tip of his nose with an air of detachment—"Hmph"—and refuse to acknowledge the emotions that had only recently begun to grow within him.

(6)

It was an unseasonably warm day that seemed to bring a flush to the skin.

H, aiming to let in ample light, threw open all the south-facing sash windows; the white paper was tinged a pale pink only where the rays struck.

While brushing back the thick hair that fell over his pale forehead, H grew carefree and sang his favorite lullaby. "Slumber Slumber"—he sang with a gentle, flowing harmony, projecting it as if drawing up from deep within his chest. Suddenly, from the garden's leafy thicket, a soft young woman's voice joined in, harmonizing with the same melody. H stopped singing mid-phrase—and at that instant, the voice too fell silent. With a faint smile, he began again, and the voice resumed its accompaniment.

H thought this while singing. "I'm producing an oddly better voice than usual—a glossy, almost cloyingly sweet voice. What's happening? Maybe my appearance has become more refined than usual too. Truly a voice that tingles..."

As soon as he finished singing one song, he stuck his head out the window and looked outside. Under the magnolia tree, having placed a small wicker chair and opened a book on her lap, Chiyoko was sitting. “Miss Chiyoko-saaan” H called out in a voice like the color of a blossoming flower. Suddenly looking this way, Chiyoko stood beneath a window much taller than her own height, her white teeth gleaming. “Why?” “That’s enough.”

“Well, it’s all well and good, but you live in the same house yet hardly show your face... The Queen is quite cross.” “I beseech Your Majesty’s forgiveness! Anyway, isn’t today a lovely day—so warm and quiet? Don’t you think?” “It’s a fine day, I tell you—truly—but on days like this, one just ends up feeling so buoyant. Weather like this makes thinking downright impossible…”

“You’ve only just managed to get up today—there’s no need to think so hard… And even if you did,”

“I already know what comes next—” “You seem fond of women who dislike thinking and excel at empty chatter.” Chiyoko said with a mean-spirited laugh. Reaching out, she hooked her fingers on the window frame; as H leaned forward to speak down from above, their current posture made Chiyoko recall a scene from some play. “What brings our garden-averse gentleman outside today?”

“Why? Hardly anyone provides explanations for every little thing like that.” Chiyoko immediately continued after that,

"But if it bothers you, shall I tell you? ‘—That’s a bit strange!’ A shrill laugh echoed into the distance."

“You needn’t make such a fuss over what I said so innocently—”

“In that case, I won’t say it anymore.” “Why don’t we go somewhere today? The warmth is just right for walking, and it feels so light!”

“You’re still being too hasty. You need to stay quiet for today and tomorrow at least—you should still be taking Kusuban.” “No, it’s only for when I’m unwell. If I keep taking it too long, it’ll become a habit and stop working, you know. Well then, I’ll behave today—but somehow I just want to go out, you know.” “What a splendid mood, truly! Doesn’t it feel like great big wings might sprout from your back? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to ride in an aircraft—oh, how marvelous that would be!”

“It feels nice, but I’m tired of looking up like this—it feels like even your voice and everything else are just falling down onto my head…” “There you go again with your habits—but very well, come in from there then. Let’s talk a bit more properly. Do invite your mother up too.” Chiyoko nodded in understanding and stepped up from the engawa.

“Mother, let’s go talk with Mr. H. He said you should come too.” “Is that so? But I have to finish this first, you see. Tell him I’ll come later.”

Mother waved the small cloth she held in her hand. She couldn’t quite tell what Mother was doing, but—

“Well then… later…”

With that, she went to the Western-style room. Basking in the warm sun that flushed his face, H remained leaning against the long chair with his eyes closed. Chiyoko, who had been about to call out loudly, hesitated for a moment—her mouth twitching—and sat down beside him. His complexion was beautiful. The instant Chiyoko thought this, she—convinced she must look even more radiant—quickly flashed a cunning smile and tugged slightly at the hem of her haori.

Chiyoko, aware that H was awake, maintained a primly composed expression as she observed the finely uneven surface of the paper—its intricate beauty—while being distracted by the quiet ringing in her ears. "Why did you start something like this?" When questioned with a cornered sensation that even he couldn't formulate a response to, H—appearing as though truly asleep, not so much as stirring an eyelash—was thinking of things that were out of sync with the present.

"Why is it that whenever Chiyoko laughs, I find myself laughing too? When Chiyoko turns difficult, I unwittingly slip into solemnity—I must never forget that what filled me with quivering anger and sorrow whenever remembered was a woman. I ought to see Chiyoko only as an ordinary daughter, yet with each passing day grows this reluctance to let her leave my side. Now I can judge my heart as good or bad or neither—but Chiyoko, I—"

But I myself didn't think I had such a youthful heart.

[The following corresponds to one missing manuscript page]

“Could it be that God created someone like me on a mere whim? Could it be that within my head lie these wildly overdeveloped emotions and things that haven’t advanced even a fraction as they should? Could it be that He makes it seem like I might become something, only to cruelly let me down and reduce me to nothing more than a trivial existence?” She found herself quite seriously considering such things.

The two were discussing *Waga Sode no Ki*. Since she took little pleasure in Mother’s recent literary critiques, Chiyoko did not cease her musings as she watched H’s pale fingertips practicing his pencil artistry. The words—“Well then, for a brief while I’ll flap my wings and test them too, but when it comes time to fly—” were indeed Bersenev’s line from *The Eve*, yet they also seemed undeniably like something else speaking—something that deluded itself while amusingly playing with its own fanciful notions.

"No matter what happens, I won't let anyone have their way with me!" No sooner did this rebellious impulse flare up than she could see it clearly—some visible force taking delight in humans as they were: petty humans' futile rebellions and vain efforts, like poking a dying insect with a needle tip and rejoicing when it writhes and cries from the provocation, then doing precisely the same to mankind with equal relish. "On a day like this, if even M doesn't come, I'll be at a complete loss." Closing her eyes, she rested her head on folded hands,

“Mother.” Face still pressed down, Chiyoko called out. The two seemed to have forgotten Chiyoko was there as they engrossedly conversed. “Mother, I’m telling you!” Chiyoko called out fretfully, like a little girl would. “What’s gotten into you now? Again?” She stood up together with Mr. H and approached Chiyoko. “Again? “What’s wrong? “It’s just that it’s too unpleasantly warm.”

Chiyoko shuddered. The words and demeanor H had spoken with such an overly supple, naively aristocratic tone slipped smoothly into Chiyoko's hardened heart. A drowsy sort of feeling came over her, "A little... but there's no reason at all—both of you were acting as if you'd forgotten I was here, so I felt like an outcast..."

With her face still pressed down, looking at H from the corner of her right eye, Chiyoko said.

“What could it be? It’s like you’re saying something a baby would say.” “Just now, while talking about *Waga Sode no Ki*, we ended up on the topic of chastity—honestly, I’d completely forgotten about someone like you.” “Yes, but today it’s better to eat some delicious sweets rather than talk about such things.” Chiyoko said with a cheerful face. While the three of them were still caught in their laughter, “Mr. Gen Yamada has arrived.”

As soon as the maid ushered him in, immediately afterward entered Chiyoko’s cousin—the one she always said “he’s overgrown” about—who was enrolled in a large commerce department.

“Hey.”

The two men exchanged rallying cries as any man would and shared inexplicable laughter. H spoke for a while, then turned back to his drafting table. “It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it? Has school been keeping you busy?”

Mother asked. “Yes, I had been gathering materials for my thesis, so I only began coming here at the start of this year.” Cousin Gen said in his usual calm tone, like a true gentleman.

“What kind of thesis?” Chiyoko said, her lips quivering slightly as if in mockery. “What do you mean? Even if I told you, you wouldn’t understand—you know absolutely nothing.” The tone one would use to lecture a small child needled her short temper. “Do try not to look down on me so much. After all, the papers you write are usually nothing special…” With that, she twitched her nostrils sharply.

“You’re not acting ladylike!” Mother cautioned her as if issuing a military command. “Mr. H, you needn’t be so reserved! Do join us for a bit!” “Yes indeed! To have someone turn their back while everyone else is exchanging glances—that’s more disagreeable than uneven face powder.” Chiyoko clapped her hands together once. “You’ve put on quite the airs, I must say. Well then, let’s turn this way.”

H turned his chair with his toes to face this way, and Mr. Gen’s face and H’s face lined up.

When she tried to shift her gaze—which had been silently fixed on H’s faintly moving lips—to Cousin Gen’s cropped head, she realized he had been staring at her all along. She felt as if her vulnerability had been targeted and mocked, holding her breath at the back of her molars. Then she hurled her penetrating stare into Cousin Gen’s eyes. Cousin Gen immediately averted his gaze. While her heart swelled with triumph, she watched H’s pale forehead with a soft intensity, as though safeguarding something precious.

“You’re being uncharacteristically quiet today, huh?” After briefly glancing at her mother’s teasing face, Chiyoko shook her shoulders and chuckled softly. “Huh, Chiyo-chan—I heard you were sick right at the start of the New Year—aren’t you going back to school yet? Are you better now?”

Cousin Gen, who hadn’t found an opening to speak, addressed her with excessive force on the “Huh.”

“Yes, I’ve only just started getting up again these past few days. I’ll go out in another day or two.” “You really must take better care of yourself... How about we go see Meguro this coming Sunday? That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Cousin Gen spoke with uncharacteristic buoyancy in his voice, as though announcing something extraordinarily joyful. “But those people will be tagging along again, won’t they?” Chiyoko said, brow furrowing at the nuisance of having to bring her brothers along.

“There you go again—if you don’t want to go, then don’t! That’s just like you—always selfish through and through.” Mother snatched out these words and cast her eyes toward H and Cousin Gen seeking approval, but since both were looking elsewhere, her flustered gaze slipped through the wicker chair’s woven gaps and fell upon the carpet’s floral patterns. “Well then—I suppose I’ll go give instructions for the meal.” With an indolent grunt, Mother exited through the western door near the kitchen.

Chiyoko’s head grew increasingly heavy. She chose the deepest chair and listened to their conversation with a cushion pressed to her head, but at some point must have dozed off, for when she awoke, a red satin feather futon had been wrapped around her body. Cousin Gen seemed to be playing tennis with his brothers in the back; the weighty thud of balls could be heard. Mr. H had been diligently drawing lines, but upon noticing the sound of movement, he turned around with a gentle smile.

“You fell asleep, didn’t you? Your head still isn’t fully better. I thought you seemed tired earlier, so...” Leaning back against the drafting table with his hands behind him and arching his back, he looked at Chiyoko’s face—rubbing her eyes—and spoke.

“How long has it been?” “At most about an hour. Cousin Gen asked Mother to bring out that futon, then put it over you.” “Hmm…” Still dazed, Chiyoko gave an absent reply. As she silently gazed at the feather futon’s deep red hue—shadowed and dense—a desolate loneliness, hard and riddled with voids, welled up within her, until tears began seeping out.

H was still staring at Chiyoko. Turning away as if fleeing from his gaze, she felt the coldness of tears spilling forth as though seeping from the very marrow of her head. To show tears in front of a man was something Chiyoko detested. Yet incomprehensible emotions surged up so intensely that she couldn’t move a muscle. She lowered her head and buried it into the cushion. Within that softness, her head had become like a clanging iron ball.

“What’s wrong?”

In a low, subdued voice, H asked. Chiyoko noticed the glint of tears in his eyes. She had no composure left to remark on it. H began walking around the room, looking at the tips of his feet. After circling repeatedly, he turned toward the darkness and began to pray. Chiyoko stared with tear-dampened eyes at him bowing his head, hands folded over his chest in prayer. When H stopped praying, Chiyoko had ceased her tears—yet in his eyes lingered tears poised to spill. Neither knew why the other had wept, yet somewhere in their hearts they felt an unspoken understanding.

“Let’s sing something.” H said in his usual voice. While playing their favorite piece, Chiyoko closed her eyes. Each note seemed to seep into her chest—her face gradually grew hot, her body began to tremble, and tears spilled forth once more. Enduring, Chiyoko continued playing to keep her tears from H, but ultimately lowered her head onto the ivory keyboard. H, who had gently stopped singing, quietly watched; then after softly cradling Chiyoko’s head, he opened the garden door and left. As if exhausted—trembling soundlessly—Chiyoko wept.

It wasn't that she was sad because M wasn't coming; nor was there anything particular making her sad—was this just some baseless sorrow common to young women? If that were so, how utterly trivial and unsightly it would be.

Chiyoko did not care for young girls who indiscriminately spoke of being lonely or sad. It wasn't that she disliked being emotional—rather, she detested the act of indiscriminately expressing it with phrases like "I'm so dreadfully lonely" or such. If that were the case, then why was she crying? When she thought this, her tears had already stopped without her realizing. In their place rose a dreadful gloom and doubt that swelled like clouds. "Strange!" With eyes parched as sunbaked earth, Chiyoko thought this. Her thumb pad pressed against the piano key, producing a droning sound that enthralled her as she maintained a face stiffened like an old woman's.

H and Cousin Gen entered from the direction of the garden, laughing loudly.

“How about you? Had enough?” A smile—seemingly a continuation from earlier and of unclear meaning—had risen to Cousin Gen’s lips. “These people have laughed their fill at whatever they found amusing, then come here with the dregs of that laughter to ask things like ‘How about you?’” Chiyoko flared up and shook her head like a simpleton. “She seems to be feeling a bit unwell, doesn’t she!” While looking at Chiyoko’s sullen brows, H said this and sat down on the sofa next to Cousin Gen; Gen, meanwhile, occasionally glanced toward Chiyoko and rocked his body. Like strangled birds, the two remained silent by the chairs, but

"I'll just finish what's left..." As H spoke and stood up, Cousin Gen—who had been staring at Chiyoko—hurriedly redirected his gaze to H's hands and... "Please go ahead. I'll handle something too." He offered this clumsy reply meant to match their curt exchange.

“Chiyo-chan, I’ll borrow a simple life style, right? That’s fine—and I’ve already stored away the one from the other day in the bookcase, so…” “Well in that case, go ahead and do that. The original of that work is there too—on the second shelf from the top of the front bookcase... probably.”

“I’ve been studying French on my own lately… You should try it… It’s not too taxing… And rather enjoyable…” “But I can’t manage that now—not when I spend every day like this—though if I go to Meguro this Sunday and feel well enough, I might push myself a little…” “Is that truly the case? Yet from what I’ve observed, there appears nothing amiss with you…”

The tedium of politely discussing such disjointed, already settled matters was unbearable. While banging her head against the back of the chair,

“Doesn’t anyone have an interesting story? There isn’t a shred of challenge in this—what’s the point of discussing such things...”

“Yeah…”

“By the way, what day of the week is today?”

“Today?” “Why did you forget?” “It’s Thursday!”

“Then Sunday will be here before we know it.” “That does appear to be so... Tomorrow being Friday, then Saturday...”

H said while laughing, still facing away. “Your favorite trick again, huh? Utterly worthless.” “Those who aren’t glib are more admirable.” “But women have nothing to talk about.” “Well, if you put it that way, it’s true… but it’s a bit odd…”

Having been too clownish, he laughed with a forced cadence—"Ha ha, ha ha"—as if his laughter had been plucked out.

The mother, adjusting her collar as she entered, caught hold of both of them and began talking about Hokkaido. Having been told the same thing over and over like a prayer, Chiyoko entered her room and began writing a letter to Koko. The beginning would not cohere, and not a single character emerged as she wished.

“I’ll see them in a day or two anyway…”

Thinking this, she tossed the pale blue writing paper into the wastebasket full of manuscript pages—a single light plop, as if marking a point. When she threw in the very last scrap of paper,

“Miiiiss Chiyokooooo!”

H called. While putting the lid on the ink, “I want to play.” he shouted again. “I’m coming—just wait…”

While frantically rubbing the back of her hand with brisk, hissing motions, “That one—I want to play that one.” Merely hearing H say this made Chiyoko play Adieu. His voice resonated twice as beautifully as usual. “It must be the weather,” Chiyoko thought, yearning to press her cheek against the rounded richness of that voice. When they finished playing, the two exchanged glances and laughed softly without reason. “I told you you could play it anytime.” H’s words, sighed out like breath, harmonized perfectly with his feelings.

“Might I join your company?”

Cousin Gen entered. "Cousin Gen feels uneasy about us being alone together—and he hates when we are—what's with that..." As Gen laughed and peered at the score over his shoulder, Chiyoko kept her composure as though declaring, "I won't slacken even one muscle around my eyes." Chiyoko—who detested work and had pulled a displeased face when told to help with dinner—around eight o'clock,

“You all go on ahead—I’m not feeling well, so I’ll go to bed now. I’ll probably go to school tomorrow.”

After saying such things, she promptly went to bed.

The next morning, having gone to bed early the night before, she woke around five o'clock. Once again in her usual nightclothes, she went to the Western-style room and read poetry while warming herself by the fire.

From around seven o'clock, Chiyoko began preparing with the intention of putting away her books and going to school. Changing into her kimono and checking her schedule, she found mathematics. Mathematics glared back at Chiyoko in stern characters, stubbornly persisting as if ready to snap at her.

Ugh, this is revolting—just when I was finally thinking of going. While glaring resentfully at the characters, Chiyoko stood there looking uncertain. I should stop this. What could I possibly accomplish going in this state of mind?

She declared as if flinging the words down and returned to the Western-style room again. As she walked,

“Mother would say, ‘You’re spineless—truly, not an ounce of self-restraint.’” Thinking this, she laughed oddly. She sat beside H and spent the entire day watching lines glide away smoothly, as though there were no lingering resentment between them. As her father was leaving, “The mind too… must stay resolute. You must take care of your body.” Though he had cradled her head while saying this—his usual gesture—Chiyoko found herself recalling it with peculiar intensity.

Chiyoko strained herself, trying again and again to bolster her own heart that seemed somehow timid and faltering. That day, as if every conversational seed had been exhausted, they spoke of nothing but the planned outing to Meguro. "Aren't you going again? That won't do at all." Mother had been about to say this when she saw in Chiyoko's eyes that peculiar sharp glint which emerged whenever her emotions grew turbulent; from dusk onward, she kept urging her repeatedly to retire early.

(7)

The weather was quite fine on Sunday, and Chiyoko had a healthy-looking complexion. Chiyoko disliked doing anything in groups of three. If two people were talking, one would inevitably sit there blankly, creating an awkward gap. Chiyoko, thinking such thoughts, found today's plan to go as three not much to her liking either. "Isn't there someone else who could join us? If someone insists on changing locations, even somewhere slightly different would be fine—I'd prefer we make it four."

she had even gone so far as to say. So Chiyoko went out dressed in all her favorite things. On the way to Tabata Station, H looked up at the sky again and again, “It’s a fine day, isn’t it? Perfect for walking.” he said in a tone that seemed thoroughly pleased. Chiyoko walked without speaking as much as usual, kicking pebbles with the tips of her white tabi-clad toes and now and then comparing H’s light Western-style clothes to Cousin Gen’s large shadow draped in a mantle.

Though the Yamate district was relatively uncrowded, Chiyoko could not bear how the two women seated directly across—one in her mid-twenties, the other around twenty—with their jaded eyes, deliberately criticized her unconventional hairstyle and modestly worn kimono in voices loud enough to hear, all while she sat stiffly wedged between them. Chiyoko, with a haughty look in her eyes as if thinking "What's so great...", stared fixedly at the woman’s face—a face with a turned-up nose and lacking refinement, utterly typical of a brash archery parlor girl.

The woman across also, at first,

“What?! You insolent little know-it-all!” The woman had been glaring back as if to retort, but unable to endure Chiyoko’s intense gaze, she abruptly turned aside and exchanged a look with her companion. Chiyoko gave a faint, triumphant smile and shrugged her shoulders. “What’s wrong? You look like you threw a tantrum.”

H stopped talking with Cousin Gen and asked Chiyoko. “Threw a tantrum? It’s nothing—it’s such a lovely day, after all.”

Chiyoko smiled happily and scrutinized H's face as if meeting him for the first time. H pulled her sleeve like during a confidential talk. In that moment's mood, Chiyoko wanted H to say something cloyingly sweet—even if false—in his mellow voice. Like a bashful little girl, she tilted her head. “Wait! The man standing right there!” She looked up at the fidgety-eyed man blocking her path.

He wore a coarse-striped suit and clumsily tied a gaudy-colored tie. He was a twenty-five or twenty-six-year-old man with a face full of pimples, his oily skin greasy and glistening. Around the base of the third shell button from the top, a woman’s hair was coiled in a painfully tight and pitiful manner. Even at the seventeen- or eighteen-year-old punk talking beside him, Chiyoko sharply twitched her eyebrows and glared with a composed gaze at the man who looked thoroughly low-class. No matter how long they stood there, the two men refused to stop their crude, suggestive laughter.

“How utterly shameful!” Chiyoko shouted as if she had shoved someone away, then looked at H with a mouth as charmless as a man’s. H gave a wry smile and was talking with Cousin Gen.

From the moment he left the house, Cousin Gen was weighed down by reluctance, even thinking it would have been better had he not suggested coming to such a place today. Even on the train, she did not sit next to him but took a seat beside H. When she talked, it was with H; when she laughed, she looked toward H—though such childish behavior should have been beneath her, an unbearable jealousy welled up within him. "She certainly loves H more than I." He dismissed even such thoughts with a scoff,

But I'm younger than H!

A faint smile floated in his eyes. In jealousy devoid of any catharsis,

"What...! How foolish... It doesn't matter anyway..." While thinking this, he gathered his excessively sensitive nerves at the back of his eyes and watched—from the way Chiyoko's eyes moved to how she carried herself, even where her hands rested.

"Why on earth did I suggest coming to this place? I can't even understand my own mind anymore. Chiyoko is definitely thinking of H—and I'm just being used as a stepping stone!" He closed his eyes resignedly. At her appearance and demeanor so unusually different from usual, the two—though unaware of the reason—felt somehow unsettled.

“Cousin Gen, what’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?” In a coaxing tone, Chiyoko called out to Cousin Gen, who was gazing down past H’s shoulder. “Mmm, it’s nothing, but I’m not in a very good mood.” Cousin Gen spoke to Chiyoko in a tone more bristling than he had ever used before. Chiyoko exchanged looks with H and pulled an unbearably unpleasant face.

They were scheming something—he would explain once they got back! How absurd—he was harboring such unmanly feelings! As soon as he thought this, he felt a cruel urge to torment Cousin Gen mercilessly all day long. What was pitiable about them? They were the ones who had made me uncomfortable even for a moment! When they arrived at Meguro, Chiyoko—helped by H who had alighted first like a foreign noblewoman—descended with affected grace and began walking with H at their center. The three faced toward Fudō-san where everyone was heading. After walking briefly, Cousin Gen slipped slightly behind and began walking right beside Chiyoko. Children with runny noses and shrewd shrine attendants passed by watching curiously—observing how Chiyoko tied her lusterless hair at both ears with dahlia-like ribbons; how her pale silk-knitted shawl flowed unbuttoned past her knees; how she walked swish-swish in synchronized strides with the men—then muttered envious insults under their breath.

The three walked without speaking. Yet within Chiyoko’s eyes, laughter ceaselessly shone. When they came to the corner leading to Fudō-san, H saw a couple approaching from the opposite direction,

“They’re feeling pretty smug, but a bit slow, huh?” he said. A still-young husband walked toward them, laughing as he hooked his wife’s Western-style umbrella on his arm. The wife had an oddly pale nose tip, her hair clumsily tied up, her geta sandals kicking up dust with each step, the whitish-stitched detachable collar clashing absurdly with her outfit—she gave the impression of a rather simple-minded woman. Having taken in this sight at a glance, Chiyoko said in a nasal voice: “You must never say such things! That’s such a bachelor-like thing to say.”

“You must never say such things—that’s such a bachelor-like thing to say!” When climbing those high steps—as had been her habit since childhood (Chiyoko always linked arms with whomever she walked with, be it her father or others)—she hooked both arms through H’s and Cousin Gen’s and let herself be pulled up effortlessly. In the dim worship hall, a young monk who had been lying down sprang upright at Chiyoko’s booming laughter, his face flushing crimson—a sight that struck her as both pitiable and absurd.

They circled around and descended. Chiyoko wore a refreshed expression as if free from all reservations and glanced around briskly at her surroundings. To tell the truth, rather than walking along like this, what pleased her was getting back at Cousin Gen, who had made her feel unpleasant even for a moment with his resentful attitude. The three walked in a small cluster across the open space while,

“What a thoroughly vulgar place this is.” “Don’t those shrill-voiced women yapping away in those teahouses make it even more intolerable?” “Do you suppose there are mutton-chop fools lured by such voices?” “You’d be surprised—people’s tastes vary as widely as their faces in this vast world.” “I can’t fathom wasting time coming here again—wouldn’t you agree?” “Tastes differ—there must be some who enjoy it. Surely you...?”

“Well, I certainly don’t care for it—who’d ever come to a place like this again?” “You seem irritated—what’s wrong?” “I know!” “That’s not what I’m saying at all—” H said this with a slightly fierce look and pressed Chiyoko’s arm, which was hooked at her side.

Looking down and giggling quietly, “Yes, yes,” she replied as if swallowing everything whole. “The chestnut rice and bamboo shoot rice here are such trifling things—they’re astonishingly bad, so flavorless…” “Exactly—once these ‘something-rice’ dishes become standardized in neighborhoods like this, they’ll taste worse than what amateurs make. But if you take a fancy to the serving girl who brings them, you might just endure it.”

Chiyoko said something a man thoroughly versed in worldly pleasures might say. Cousin Gen turned away while H laughed softly at her nape. "I simply cannot remain in such a place any longer. Let us go to Myōkaen instead—it's nearby, don't you agree?" No sooner had she settled onto the red blanket in the innermost teahouse than she made this capricious declaration. H—sipping bitter tea—responded: "Had your fill?" "We might go, but what of Cousin Gen here?" "He ought to accompany us..."

While eating yōkan, Cousin Gen had simply nodded in agreement. "Then let's do that—but can you walk, Miss Chiyoko?" "If you thought I couldn't walk, why would anyone suggest it? I'll walk—no matter what happens..." "Even if I mean to walk, wouldn't it be troublesome should my legs refuse to obey?"

“You should wait until after you’ve let me walk before saying such things—it’s too soon to decide now!” Chiyoko said while crumbling a senbei cracker into fine pieces in her palm. “Oh, why didn’t I just take a big bite? Did I do this to put on airs…” She chuckled through her teeth and glimpsed the dark profile of a girl earnestly talking to a man carrying a tray across the way. The conversation between them took shape in Chiyoko’s mind as disjointed, clumsy nonsense—the very image of foolish matters.

“Sis.” H called out with a mischievous expression. The girl, engrossed in conversation, apparently didn’t hear and didn’t even turn around.

“Please come here for a moment.” When Chiyoko spoke in her characteristic high-pitched voice, the girl hurriedly set her geta sideways and came running over. H, while taking out the emptied teapot, “She was quite popular, huh?” H said with a mean-spirited laugh. The girl suddenly flushed red, brushed back the hair falling into her unsightly face, and headed toward the teapot area. “It’s such a strange, unpleasant feeling when an unattractive girl of that age blushes, isn’t it?”

Chiyoko whispered to H in a low voice as if having realized something and looked at the comparatively plump figure from behind with its narrow obi tied in a shell-shaped knot.

“Aren’t we of the same sex? We’re supposed to be allies—our ages aren’t even that different…” H said this as if it were nothing and stroked his thick hair. Chiyoko found beautiful the pale, taut hands—like those belonging to someone prone to hysteria—and hands of identical shape flitting like white doves through a forest of black hair; with one eye she observed Mr. H’s elegant hands, while with the other she noticed Cousin Gen wearing an awkward expression. Even after leaving the tea house, she continued feeling strangely compelled onward, walking unsteadily along the tree-lined path—pleasant underfoot, somehow resembling a painted scene with its glimmering pebbles—clutching her kimono sleeves as she swayed, trying to prolong this interlude of both delight and anguish.

She walked with squared shoulders, bumping into both men as she went. This manner of hers—both coquettish and meaningful—displeased Cousin Gen. "Why must you walk in such an unsightly way?" Cousin Gen spoke resentfully. "I walk like this because I want to... That reason alone suffices—when I occasionally visit such places, it's best to maintain an utterly open state of mind." While replying to Cousin Gen and gazing at H, her heart became stolen by the surrounding scenery. Taking a stride ahead, Cousin Gen placed himself before the two.

And even as he strained to catch every word of their conversation, his flustered gestures—frantic to prevent today’s unusually spiteful Chiyoko from detecting his agitation—only ended up laying his inner state bare. “Don’t you think, Mr. H, humans are such strange creatures with these peculiar emotions? Thinking as if I alone am pondering things those people wouldn’t even consider—fretting and worrying over them. But such things are more common among women, don’t you think? Though men might have them too.”

While saying this, Chiyoko used her pinky to flick off the leaf clinging to H's back. "Well, if we're human, both men and women have those things. And as society grows increasingly complex, to some extent those things become necessary—there's no helping it." "Oh how disagreeable! I myself certainly don't think I harbor such feelings—therefore I am not a jealous person."

Chiyoko even found herself thinking how nice it would be if H said something suggestive—something she could show off to Cousin Gen. When she stood on the log bridge over the river visible in the distance beyond the cedar forest, she gazed with dreamlike eyes, let out an "Ah...," and looked as though she might sit down right there. As she took in this indescribably vibrant natural scenery—so vast and distant—her body felt like it might dissolve into it. The pale blue sky, faintly veiled with mist, filled with beautiful phantoms and the breath that created nature's rhythms. The distant cedar forest bowed its head reverently, while water at her feet—carrying faint white foam and small leaves—whispered to the shore's pebbles, its surface wearing a broad smile as it flowed onward.

When encountering scenery of such surpassing beauty that for two or three seconds her vision and mind would go blank and white as if fainting away—a breath-stopping sensation Chiyoko often experienced—today too she succumbed to it, forgetting she stood above a river on this narrow bridge, drawn to take a step or two forward. H was gripping the end of her sleeve. Chiyoko felt so happy that her body seemed to be gradually rising into the sky.

If Chiyoko could have embraced Nature itself, she would have held it tight—pressed so firmly against her own cherished, pristine, rounded chest that marks would remain—giving thanks even as she felt she might suffocate, yet still wanting to do exactly that. H lightly pressed Chiyoko’s shoulder and started walking. “This isn’t even a proper farewell, you…” Chiyoko said in a cloyingly sweet voice, turned back toward the bridge, and reached out her hand. H placed a dead leaf in her outstretched hand without any particular reason.

Chiyoko, who had been gazing with eyes as if her heart floated forth in a dreamlike rapture, suddenly came to her senses—eyes shining keenly—and stopped short. Tears had welled up to the brink of spilling over. "How utterly cruel! Must you make me clutch this unsightly thing when I'm in such a state? There are white flowers right beside us—couldn't you have used those? Truly, you're too cruel—need you torment me so!"

Unable to remain silent any longer, Chiyoko spoke in a loud voice. “This unsightly leaf’s serrated lines tore through my beautiful, fragrant picture scroll!” “If it had just quickly turned to soil, this wouldn’t have happened!” Chiyoko violently tore the leaf and trampled it with her geta until it sank into the soil.

Engineer H, who had been silently watching, finally understood why Chiyoko was angry. Cousin Gen stood beside Engineer H and gazed with apparent concern at Chiyoko, whose pale blue face—resembling that of a willful queen tormenting her attendant—remained fixed on her feet. The three of them didn't exchange a single word. In that silence, only their nerves raced between them like demons. Without anyone taking the lead, the three began to walk.

Cousin Gen started talking nonstop as though he had finally cornered H. Chiyoko's irritation showed no signs of subsiding, yet she found herself distracted by the two men's conversation. H was telling a story unlike the punchline-based anecdotes Chiyoko had heard before. Her lips began to loosen despite herself. Having been so furious moments before, Chiyoko—who disdained how immediately joining them would undermine her dignity—found herself unable to be the first to lower her head. With a stiffened mouth that had failed to form a laugh, she walked away.

H also said, “Hey, I was the one who messed up earlier, so let’s make up, okay?”

He found it difficult to say. The two of them waited together, each hoping the other would be first to utter "Let's make up." Chiyoko observed H's demeanor as they walked. Bathed in soft, pliant light, his earlobes and nape were suffused with a translucent pale red that made him appear almost demure. At times when he seemed self-conscious—the tip of his little finger tying jet-black hair tinged as if with rouge, his teeth gleaming dazzlingly white—Chiyoko noticed these details and couldn't help smiling faintly.

"I'll make peace with him myself - forgiving him for those pretty, girlish parts he has here and there." With an unburdened heart, she thought this. Like someone transformed, she ran up to the two men with her face brimming with smiles. The three exchanged glances and laughed in a way indescribably mingled with various emotions. Then they mutually wrapped layer upon layer around the earlier incident as though not even grazing it with a pinky tip, tucking it away in their hearts' corners.

Chiyoko, having realized that Cousin Gen's demeanor had thawed considerably since she herself had shown a sullen mood earlier, found herself feeling as though she had deliberately gotten angry for Gen's sake—or rather, as if that moment had been cleverly exploited against her, leaving her outmaneuvered. Before long, Chiyoko even came to know what Cousin Gen was thinking now.

"I’m destroying the very schemes I myself devised." Chiyoko sneered derisively at herself. "Ah well, what's done is done anyway." She found herself thinking such things. The three of them talked about trivial things and laughed at what ordinary people laugh at as they went to Myokwaen. The three of them searched here and there, trying to get small bundles made.

The men, who maintained a seemingly naive appearance yet possessed jaded eyes and hearts, interpreted Chiyoko in various ways. Chiyoko, while observing the mole on the back of the hand of a nineteen-year-old man in a white work coat (uwappari) who was arranging the flowers she had ordered, listened to what his sister was saying. "How old do you think she is?" And most men were saying three or four years older. “She’s probably one of Raichō’s followers.” “No, there wasn’t anyone dressed like that in those magazine photos from before.”

“But look at that hairstyle—for her age, the kimono pattern’s too bold. I can’t make heads or tails of her.” “Either way, she’s a woman through and through.” Those people exchanged such remarks intending that Chiyoko wouldn’t hear, then collapsed into laughter. The person who had been attaching water moss slightly raised his face and laughed together with the group over Chiyoko’s head. He covered it with Western paper on top and passed it to Chiyoko.

“Mr. Gen and Mr. H, come here!” She called out to the two men gazing at the water plants across the way, their white throats bulging slightly. Chiyoko pulled out three slender flowers from within. Mr. H placed his in his collar, Chiyoko tucked hers between her ribbon, and Cousin Gen spun his around with index finger and thumb as if perplexed, “Since you’ve nowhere to put yours, just stash it here for now.” She let it drop from her narrow sleeve opening into the fold of her kimono. The three wandered about with bright expressions, but owing to the season, everywhere they went felt desolate.

“It’s nearly five o’clock. Let’s go—you’ll catch cold again otherwise. If not that, you’ll end up unable to sleep tonight one way or another.” Mr. H adjusted Chiyoko’s disheveled shawl as he spoke. “Really now, Chiyo-chan, let’s go home.” The way Cousin Gen spoke—so plausibly solicitous of Chiyoko—struck her as so absurd she nearly retorted. But thinking it best not to ruin the carefully softened mood over something trivial, she ground the impulse down with her back teeth and swallowed it whole.

The three boarded the Yamanote train.

(八)

Amidst Cousin Gen excitedly dragging a reluctant Mr. H into games like finger wrestling, Chiyoko fixed her gaze and stared out at the gradually darkening world outside, Truly, men can feel relieved or worry over the simplest things. A woman—even one pining unrequitedly for a man who seems fond of another—would never possess such carefree ease as to feel reassured by merely exchanging glares with him once. "She’d make all the more detailed observations about everything, yet—"

I shouldn’t have thought such things, yet before I knew it, I was thinking them.

Cousin Gen was inexplicably happy—not that he felt completely at ease, but he found himself wanting to speak in a loud voice, as though his heart had lightened.

“From Shikoku to Kyushu via the Henro Pilgrimage—I do so want to walk that path.”

“As the train was empty, Chiyoko spoke in an unreserved voice.”

“That’s quite bold… Shall I take you along? Or would you rather not have me?” Mr. H said such things while butting heads with Cousin Gen.

“Well, it’s not that I dislike it… but neither am I utterly enraptured by the idea. Have you never thought such things yourself?” “It’s not that I’ve never thought about it, but going all alone by oneself isn’t quite advisable, you know.” At that moment, H’s eyes had become clear and shining like a child’s; before this amiably radiant gaze, a fragment of Chiyoko’s heart fluttered its eyelids rapidly as if dazzled. And it seemed as though her own heart’s eye directed toward H had clouded over—or perhaps something was overshadowing it.

As soon as they alighted at Tabata, Chiyoko said, “I feel rather chilly,” and wrapped an extra shawl about herself. Wedged between H and Cousin Gen while gripping both their arms, she made her way along the gloomy path with wary vigilance—the sort one might feel before stumbling upon something dreadful. “Even a path like this would prove harmless in a true crisis, surely.” At the boundary path, Chiyoko declared this in a voice that rang clear.

“What precisely do you mean by ‘when it comes to the crucial moment’?”

“Well—for instance, when being pursued or eloping.” “My my—you’ve gone and said something quite audacious! Then if you imagined we were eloping now, wouldn’t that frighten you?” “Where does a three-person elopement even exist? And eloping back to one’s own home… I could never possibly feel such a thing.” At this mock-serious jesting reply, the three erupted into resounding laughter. Clustered together while conversing loudly as they walked, the waiting rickshaw pullers kept stealing glances at Chiyoko’s face—

“Step right up—easy rates to Dangozaka for you!” They were spared from having to show Chiyoko her own annoyingly fidgeting state, which she detested. “They must think we’re drunk, those bastards!”

Cousin Gen said such things and kicked a stone.

At the sound of footsteps,

“I was worried you might have been cold.” Mother said in a sincere, affectionate voice. “Thank you—today was quite enjoyable, though I am a bit tired—” “Well, that’s good to hear. I did say afterward that I should’ve had you bring an extra kimono.” “Yes—it wasn’t like that at all. I walked here briskly, you see.” “But I might have thinned the hem... This kimono truly is easy to walk in.”

Chiyoko said, her cheeks reddening as she looked at her mother’s face. After dinner, the three seated Mother at the center and recounted the day’s various events to her. In the middle of the conversation, H—wearing an expression that suggested he had some business to attend to—went off to the Western-style room. Leaning against the leather-covered sofa in the Western-style room, with dark shadows under his eyes, H was dozing. Tiptoeing across the fluffy carpet, Chiyoko immediately sat down in the chair beside him and observed H, who appeared genuinely exhausted with his eyes closed.

"How beautiful his eyelashes are." Chiyoko thought such things. She turned off the gas and adjusted the lamp's pale red light to avoid shining it on H's face. She had been reading a book right beneath it when suddenly— "By doing this, it's as if I'm in love with H!" "But why should I care? It's just being kind to someone else."

Just like that, she quietly left the room and joined the two in the tearoom, chatting away.

Sometimes, "Has he woken up?" She laughed at herself for thinking such a thing.

About two hours later, H emerged with a dazed look in his eyes. "My apologies—I ended up dozing off..."

As he said such things with a laugh, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand in a childlike manner, the mother— “There we go, awake at last! As a reward for waking up so quietly, I’ll give you this.” After saying this, she brought out a glass cutwork jar filled to the brim with finely crumbled Western sweets. “Is there any caramel?” Mr. H said in a coquettish manner and had her give him the pink and brown ones,

“Won’t you make me your child tonight too, Mrs.?”, he said. "What a big child with such a faintly unpleasant air—to think he’s a mere four years younger than Mother… That’s just shameless…" Chiyoko cracked a joke and snatched the pink caramel from H’s hand before darting off. Until late into the night，Chiyoko was talking with her mother as part of their trio. She found herself wanting to stay like this—setting the brightest crimson flower in place within the pale blue light，just being alone with H and gazing at his face without end.

"Am I really feeling something for Mr. H? I—who wish only to remain in this state of neither retreating nor advancing, merely liking him—know full well that whichever way I go, it will surely end in no good result."

At bedtime, Chiyoko thought such things.

After a long absence, Chiyoko attended school and was pampered by everyone; until she returned home, she found herself surrounded by friends who treated her like a younger sister or child. “Anyone would do such things for me—being fussed over like some rare thing isn’t something to be grateful for.” Thinking such things, she humored her friends—who offered kind words as if soothing a small child—by playing along. The homeroom teacher, “You still look a bit pale.” The homeroom teacher was making remarks like that and deliberately looking at Chiyoko’s face. Chiyoko found there was not a single thing unbearably delightful; she was thinking such things.

"I’ll go. Everyone stays silent, staring at my face as they each gently pat my head with their palms. Staying silent while looking at faces; staying silent while thinking; staying silent even as we come to understand each other’s hearts through laughter—how truly joyous that would be if we could all laugh aloud together!"

On the way back, she returned together with close friend Koko. Chiyoko, who was slightly tired, experienced a slight dizziness in the train and staggered toward Koko.

“Why?” Koko asked shyly in her usual muffled voice. “It’s nothing, just a little.” Speaking in subdued tones, they looked at each other and laughed together—a laugh that emerged unconsciously and without reason, something Chiyoko had never experienced before—a delight so profound she couldn’t forget it even after returning home. After that, day after day, Chiyoko went to school with an unthinking expression, returned around four o’clock, and spent her time reading books, writing, singing songs with H, and so on.

(9)

By the end of March, H's work had been completed, and he began to return to the house in Horai-cho. Around that time, perhaps because Chiyoko's mental state had become slightly off again, she became engrossed in utterly useless scribblings, fuming with irritation day after day while bustling about frantically. She would haphazardly line up books on her desk and glance around restlessly, or—though having no real business to attend to—act busy sharpening pencils pointlessly late into the night.

“I’ll definitely come up two or three times a week—it’s close by, after all.” On the day before he was to return, H said such things. “It’s better not to make such promises, Mrs.—if you couldn’t keep them, you’d just end up feeling wretched, and then you’d have to come out of mere obligation instead.” Chiyoko, who had been copying sheet music, threw her pen onto the piano and looked askance at H with a fed-up expression.

“It’s nothing worth being sad over,” she told herself, yet her heart felt heavy. Dry-eyed, H stared with equal intensity at the pushed-aside drafting table and the flowerpot he’d purchased himself. “If you grow bored, come two or three times daily—it’s no trouble. We’ll surely visit somewhere nearby again soon.” Chiyoko spoke in a tone suggesting everything had been settled long ago. After waking from sleep, she contemplated everything that had occurred from dusk till now—the span of four months laid bare. These events felt both impossibly distant and unnervingly immediate; H remained someone she cherished yet occasionally loathed—so many thoughts crowded her mind that she wondered, “What’s happening to me?” “Whether H stays by my side or leaves amounts to nothing more than minor variations in my daily life—it holds no deeper significance for me—”

H is certainly someone who'd be no good whether he moves beyond simply liking me or draws back—that's what I feel. Passionate love isn't something you find everywhere in this world, and even if you were to experience some lesser form of love, it would come to nothing anyway. Either you become extraordinary intellectual lovers—content through quiet communion, blushing just once while meeting thoughtful gazes that glimpse each other's hearts, interacting with serene minds as you conjure poems and songs—or else pursue nothing but Oshichi-like loves of pure, all-consuming passion. One must never engage in love through half-hearted whims—such affairs inevitably leave behind shameful failures too bitter to face, making you flee like a wretched fool abandoning disgrace in your wake.

"No matter what happens, I will not fall in love with H—if I did, we would surely become unhappy... For my heart's eye would grow dull and corrupted..." "If he and I continue helping each other and maintain this semblance of happiness together, that would be the best path." "I cannot lose myself in passionate love—nor can I even manage a single ordinary romance with this impoverished mind of mine, so surely even God must think this way..."

Chiyoko thought all this with a mind sharpened to crystalline clarity; when she finished thinking, she gave a slight shake of her head and—with eyelids parted just enough—buried her face in the pure white cushion, slipping into a saint's serene and immaculate sleep. When Chiyoko awoke the next morning, she felt as though she had heard an indescribably ethereal song.

As she was about to leave for school, H came out from his bedroom, “Are you leaving already? You’re leaving early, aren’t you? I overslept, so we couldn’t talk at all this morning. You look a bit pale—why don’t you take something like Seishintan or whatever? Hey, bring the young lady something light to eat, would you—”

He instructed the maid standing nearby, “Let me see your forehead?”

he said with apparent concern. Chiyoko exposed her broad, man-like forehead as she "There's nothing wrong. I don't have any fever." replied hurriedly, crushing the silver pills from the maid between her teeth. "I'm sorry to trouble you, but wait and make my lunch sandwiches—I feel unwell and don't want rice..." The maid ran off to the kitchen holding a bowl, her face slightly troubled.

Chiyoko leaned against the pillar while looking at H, “Hey, Mr. H, you shouldn’t pay so much attention to me on a day like today. Even without reason, it comes to mind, and besides—I hate how it feels like we’re already saying goodbye,”

After saying such things, she laughed with a lonely air. “Even when women grow quite old, they detest parting with someone who’s stayed even a single day in their home—it somehow leaves them feeling tearful, you know.” Chiyoko continued speaking immediately; something seemed to well up in her eyes.

H nodded at each one; without voicing a single word, he finally gave a deep nod, let out a light sigh, and laughed.

"Why does he laugh in such a strained way?" Looking at H’s mouth, Chiyoko had a fleeting thought.

A heavy weight began pressing down, pressing down upon Chiyoko's emotions. Chiyoko, tiptoeing along the paving stones, felt as though she were gradually shrinking within H's watchful gaze.

She fled outside the gate and walked down the wide, flat road glowing whitely with a relieved air, her gaze often lowered.

All her friends said, “You look pale.”

“It’s written all over your face that you didn’t sleep well last night,” they said in a tone half-mocking and half-teasing. Choking down her irritation again and again, she returned home to find H’s laughter already resounding through the tearoom. As if performing an unexpected act, Chiyoko first greeted her mother before turning her gaze to H’s face. “Since you insisted I stay—and as you said until evening anyway—I decided to remain given my free schedule today.” “Isn’t that something everyone would rejoice over?”

Chiyoko found her own overly theatrical words so comical that she gave a faint smile. “Well, you see—lately I’ve been completely absorbed in Russian plays, so I sometimes end up saying things straight from the script! How amusing—we could put on full plays right here at home…” Chiyoko tilted her head slightly like a small child and laughed while looking at H. “Well, splendid! But turning every day into a stage production—you can’t keep that up forever, you know.”

As he said this, H wore a look as though chasing after something that had vanished into the distance. “Since Father is unusually home for dinner, let’s prepare something special, shall we?” Having said this, Mother went off toward the kitchen, and shortly from that direction, “Call the greengrocer, will you? Oh, right—has Mie returned yet? Then while you’re at it, go ahead and remind them. About twenty potatoes should do.” her voice could be heard saying.

“Being a wife is such a dreadful thing, isn’t it? Day after day, you can’t even read a book properly—just working, ordering maids about, mediating children’s quarrels—that’s all life becomes.” While listening intently to her mother’s voice, she muttered as if to herself. “When you get older, your feelings will change!” H was looking at a magazine, “However much they may dislike it, women find it difficult to become independent, you know.” He added this. “I believe I can manage life perfectly well without being with a man. Having to silently endure men’s selfish tantrums, or ending up with a big unsightly belly popping out children who aren’t even clever… Oh, how dreadful!”

“Then what would you do if someone came along whom you could spend your whole life with?” “In that case, I would certainly make a promise with that person to live separately until death. And then, I think it would be better for us to meet when we want to meet, talk when we want to talk, and never mention money matters to each other.” “Let’s not have children, I tell you! Far better to live out our single generation than go through the worry of raising foolish children!”

“That might be true… But while people like you with brothers are fine, wouldn’t those without face difficulties…?” “That’s no problem at all—out of a hundred women in the world, ninety-nine and a half are desperate to marry anyway.” “What do you mean by ninety-nine and a half?” “Strange...” “Because there must be people who half want to get married and half think it would be worthless even if they did…” As they exchanged these words, both wore expressions as though something were looming over them.

“So have you decided for yourself that you’re someone who can’t serve a husband?”

“That’s not it at all—men with less deeply felt emotions compared to women wouldn’t work themselves into a huff even if I didn’t fret over them. But I simply couldn’t go fussing over a husband’s whims from the very day after marriage onward with a face completely different from yesterday’s, pretending not to care about anything! If my husband threw a selfish tantrum, I’d surely put on a cold face and refuse to humor him—he’d think me an utter fool, wouldn’t he?”

Chiyoko declared in a brisk tone that no matter how much time passed, what she had just said would not change. “So you’re resolved to maintain that sentiment, are you?”

H said pensively, with a contemplative look in his eyes, and gazed steadily at the space between Chiyoko’s eyebrows. “I can live apart from men, but I am a woman who cannot live apart from books and pens. Among women frantically eager to marry, even someone like me must have been crafted by dear God for His amusement—an exceptionally selfish creature, no doubt…” …………

H was silently looking at the shadow of the shoji lattice.

“What are you thinking about? Whether I marry or not has absolutely nothing to do with you, does it? You shouldn’t be dwelling on such matters at all!” Chiyoko laughed as if she had plopped down heavily on H’s heart. “Chiyo-chan, come to the kitchen for a moment—I’ll teach you something useful.” From outside the swinging door, Mother called out. “What? I’m coming now.” While thinking her own legs—which looked as though they were crossed with red cords like a tasuki sash—were beautiful, she went to the kitchen hazy with purple smoke.

“Come here and watch what I’m doing.” Mother was frying shrimp with her dexterous hands. “What? That’s what you’re going to teach me?” “Oh my goodness,” she said in a tone of mild surprise. “You don’t even know how to fry these things properly? The way to fry something like this?” “I know that much—you’re going on about teaching me such trivial things again for marriage preparations?”

Giggling shrilly, Chiyoko ran back to the tearoom; H seemed to have gone to the Western-style room but was nowhere to be seen there. Humming softly, she glided down the hallway to the Western-style room. H lay facedown on the sofa. “What’s the matter? Does your head hurt?” Knowing that H was prone to headaches, Chiyoko said gently.

“No, it’s not that—just a little.”

H said in a voice that sounded like he’d been crying. Chiyoko had largely grasped what H had been thinking, yet as if to avoid it, “This won’t do—I’ll pour you a little wine, and then I’ll massage your head, all right?” From the cupboard, Chiyoko brought a small glass of white wine.

H drank it with a small pursed mouth like a girl’s. The rims of H’s eyes and cheeks flushed red—he was not good with alcohol. Chiyoko clasped H’s head between both hands and pressed for a short while. “Thank you, I’m already better.” H said in a low voice. Chiyoko shook her head as if everything now made sense, “This way lies happiness!” Chiyoko repeated this to herself inwardly. While hearing the clattering of kitchen utensils and Mother’s distant voice instructing the maid, the two sank into a deep, inescapable meditation.

Chiyoko’s thoughts grew so tangled she could feel the blood pounding up into her head; she closed her eyes, clasped her hands, hugged her knees, and remained utterly still. H opened his narrow eyes and found his attention drawn to Chiyoko’s white neck and the sharply rising curve of her chest as she sat absorbed in thought with composed demeanor; from within his still-youthful body brimming with vitality arose a peculiar temptation.

H stood up from the chair and began pacing about as if burying his feet into the carpet. Chiyoko quietly opened her eyes, and her face turned bright red; she herself didn’t understand what it meant. Chiyoko adjusted her collar and stood up, then entered her room through the nearest door with slightly unsteady steps. Feeling as though waves were crashing within her, she faced the manuscript paper, trembling as she gripped the pen and stared fixedly at the page’s surface. Into Chiyoko’s heart, where emotions raced, came flowing unseen things dwelling in tree bark, grass leaves, flower stamens—things that caressed and tickled her soul with their pleasantness.

Tears spilled from Chiyoko’s eyes, forming a round, unassuming stain on the paper. Within her heart: I could never craft something as purely structured as this present state of mind—this paper would rather bask in the tear’s aftermath than bear trivial scribbles—and I too find satisfaction here. This was what she had been thinking. When Chiyoko shed tears from emotion, it was either a single drop—searingly hot—or else a deluge like a summer storm that drenched her heart to its very depths.

At that time, it was a tear from which only a single drop spilled. Chiyoko’s heart brimmed with boundless joy, gratitude, and a heart that blessed unseen things. “Ahhh, how happy I am! Why do I possess a heart capable of such happiness?”

Smiling while shaking her head, she felt her heart become like something leaping upward.

“Mr. H, are you still wearing that sorrowful look?” She called from beyond the door.

“No, I’m laughing here.” H abruptly said in a voice that seemed to stem from an entirely different emotional state.

When the door was opened, H saw into Chiyoko's heart and laughed as though he knew everything. The two sat before the piano playing sonatas and *Gondoliers*, becoming lighthearted.

Just before dinner, her father returned. With eyes brimming with vigor, the moment he saw H's face, “Oh, you’ve come! Splendid!” he said in a loud voice, sounding genuinely delighted, and lightly bent at the waist. “At last, another day of inconvenience has befallen me.” Mr. H was laughing as if the earlier matter had never happened. H, “But I simply can’t.” Forcing down H’s protests and rendered drowsy by the weak wine, Father seized upon his lethargic state to make a great commotion—singing heartily and chattering away.

While watching the three of them amusing themselves from the sidelines with an unpleasant sensation as though her own domain had been trespassed upon, Chiyoko mostly bit her lip even when everyone laughed. The greater part of Father’s conversation had consisted of urging H to take a wife.

“You’re already thirty—it’s hardly early anymore.”

Even Mother said this sort of thing. “Hmm, do you think so? But I still won’t take a wife—not until I meet someone who’d stake their life on it.” H said in a slightly cynical tone. “Why do adults meddle so much in other people’s marriages?” Chiyoko was thinking with the same feelings as a girl who had never glimpsed the world. They would show off newly purchased antiques, discuss current affairs, and then suddenly—

“How about it, Mr. H—shall we dance together? My wife here is so plump she’s quite a sight!” He even said such things and grew boisterous. “My, how time flies—it’s already been nearly four months since then…” “My, how true—you’ll soon be needing to prepare for summer.” The parents were saying such things. H would occasionally glance in Chiyoko’s direction and— “I have something to tell you, but...” he wore an expression as if to say—

Around eleven o'clock, H said staying out too late would make him catch a cold and left to return home.

The clatter of wooden clogs, growing ever more distant, came to an abrupt stop near the ornamental well. “Oh?”

Chiyoko murmured softly, leaned out, and peered into the darkness. H’s pale face floated in the pitch-black darkness. Feeling as though some kind of spirit had swiftly brushed past her heart and vanished, “Goodbye. Please take care not to catch a cold.” As soon as Chiyoko spoke, tears began to well up. “All alone…” Such thoughts kept occurring to her. “Ugh…” While sighing, she had to walk down the long, winding corridor with a heavy heart, her gaze cast downward.

(10)

Day after day, nothing but days of ill humor clung to Chiyoko as if cursing her. In the mornings, she would typically drink milk and eat fruit. It was no longer rare for her to spend nights tossing and turning with a pallid face. _Something’s wrong—what’s happening to me?_ Chiyoko had recently been forcing herself to sleep early even when she had tasks she wanted to do, all while glaring at her own abnormally disordered head. Despite having been careful to no avail, it kept gradually worsening.

Her memory worsened; she threw tantrums; she grew inexplicably sorrowful; she came to harbor nothing but jumbled emotions until she became unable to sit still and do anything. She had been drinking the phosphorus tonic that her brother was taking. The area above her eyes had become completely sunken in about ten days. "Ugh, not again—what now?" Mother had been watching Chiyoko’s face as she returned from school with a thoroughly exasperated look. Around two in the morning—a time when she should have long been asleep—Chiyoko felt as though something large was pressing down on her body. Though she tried to escape, she couldn’t, and as she struggled, exhaustion overtook her until she fell asleep.

The next morning, apparently after the maid who had folded the nightclothes said something, as soon as she returned from school, her mother— “My, you’ve been sweating in your sleep lately—you really must be more careful.” To the point where she had even said things like that without understanding why, Chiyoko’s mind remained exhausted no matter how much she slept. On the day the carp streamers were raised, while Chiyoko was on the veranda watching the spinning arrow-shaped vane atop a tall pole, she became unwell, tumbled down to the earthen floor, and from then on became truly bedridden.

Since she had taken to her bed—for what felt like one or even two months—she had come to resemble someone who had been ill for ages, so much so that she could no longer even stagger about as if beyond saving. Chiyoko maintained her usual neat appearance when ill, but her condition appeared more severe than before; she no longer cracked jokes and instead spent much time staring blankly at the wood grain on the ceiling or watching people move about. H, who visited frequently, would always come by Chiyoko’s bedside even for a brief moment and leave behind some words of comfort she found pleasing.

At times, he would sit silently by her pillow for long periods, singing softly to her in a low voice. When Chiyoko—having worsened since yesterday and looking like someone who had lost all vitality, her lips slightly parted and chest exposed as she leaned out from her nightclothes—was staring blankly into space, H, who had come in on tiptoe, was whispering to her mother sitting beside her. “I apologize for the late hour, but since I heard she wasn’t doing well yesterday, I went out elsewhere tonight—though I grew concerned and thought I’d stop by. “It really isn’t good after all—what could be wrong? Once she recovers this time, we really must have her change locations for convalescence. And now is the most crucial time of her life…”

“I wonder what’s wrong with her... Father is terribly worried, you know,” “It would be such a shame for her to lose her wits now, I wonder...” “Lose her wits—that won’t happen. But if a raging fire were to ignite in her head, that would be ill-advised. Should we not cool it?” “Surely we needn’t resort to that yet, I wonder...” Chiyoko—struck with sudden clarity—recognized the drilling pain near the crown of her spine. She shuddered, recalling this was one of meningitis’ telltale signs someone had once described.

Before her eyes, she imagined scenes of herself—now completely a fool—laughingly tearing apart the writings and collections she had painstakingly created when her mind was whole; envisioned the state of her heart as she gnawed at her nightgown collar while dying; and just as when she found herself trapped in such imaginings with no escape, tears streamed down uncontrollably. "What's wrong?" "What's the matter?"

The two asked quietly and softly. "No, you see—if I were to die or become a fool like this, I'd truly be pitiful, don't you think?" Chiyoko was sobbing uncontrollably. Mother turned her face aside as if not to take notice and looked at the edge of her sleeve. "Please stop worrying like that—I'll mend things even with my own heart if I must. I've been extending my morning prayers just for you—who would stand by and let someone so young die without a word?"

H spoke in a voice imbued with heartfelt sincerity as he brushed back the hair clinging to Chiyoko's forehead. Chiyoko listened in silence like a placated child, but when he finished, she gave a faint nod and closed her eyes as though slipping into sleep. Then some ten days later—less than twenty since she had first taken to her bed—she reached a state where she could rise and walk without swaying unsteadily. Her cheeks had hollowed considerably, and she now wept more readily than before.

Mother and Father were saying she should go to Odawara in four or five days more— "If you were even past twenty years old," came Mother’s words while delaying arrangements with such talk. Persuaded by H and Father through these procrastinations came a decision—Mother too would go accompanied by one maid and bringing along her younger brother. From that very day of decision Mother grew suddenly restless—tidying her son’s kimono sleeves here; removing her own haori there—each day bustling about with the attending maid in ceaseless preparation.

Amidst everyone’s bustling activity, Chiyoko sat apart, doing nothing but fidgeting with the books and manuscript paper she was to take along, feeling completely at a loss about what to do or how to proceed. "You’re still not fully recovered, you know—to end up so at a loss about what to do..." Seeing her have a tantrum while saying, “I don’t have a clue what to do,” Mother spoke thus:

“How about this—given how things are, tomorrow should be quite warm too. If we go ahead and leave, I can even see you off.”

Father proposed this idea.

As the two of them were engaged in some urgent discussion, they apparently reached an agreement to depart—having the maid bring out the dress cases and placing a call to Odawara—while Father was examining the timetable. “Chiyo-chan, you should go to bed now—we’re leaving tomorrow, so you’d best be ready…”

Her mother called out to Chiyoko, who lay engulfed amidst the pure white. Chiyoko blinked wide like a startled chick but remained silent, immersed in the restless atmosphere. The anxiety struck her that even if she were to leave without meeting H at all for just ten or twenty days, this might become a situation where they wouldn’t meet again for a long time.

"If only he would come tonight—or if not, then early tomorrow morning—" She had also been thinking such things. Looking at the blue sea and Hakone with its many cliffs, she imagined a monotonous life by the seaside and thought with delight of mornings when heat haze would rise over the water's surface—of that feeling when she'd immediately soak her sweaty feet in cool water upon waking. Like any young woman on the eve of a journey, she found herself caught in a flutter of inexplicable excitement.

That night, when she woke up early after being unable to sleep soundly, her mother and the maids were already clattering about doing something. Still in her nightclothes, Chiyoko began handling the things she needed to sort out herself. Chiyoko, as if anxious about being spied upon, locked the cabinet containing the writings she had composed, stored all the books left out into the bookcase, and gazed around the eerily empty room with the look of someone preparing to move.

“Chiyo-chan, you need to bring the things you’re taking. We’ve already finished our side completely…” Though Chiyoko had spent a full week decisively preparing her belongings, being addressed this way stirred an inexplicable unease in her. She fidgeted restlessly about the room before ultimately plucking out scraps of writing she had no intention of taking. With a jittery, nervous gaze, she had Mother pack them into the case. Even after hurrying back to her room, Chiyoko—with nothing left to do—stared vacantly into space while gazing at the leaves in the garden that deepened into a richer green within the faintly warm air. Despite the pleasant weather, she felt her own sallow body being increasingly pressed upon by her surroundings.

"If only H would come—what if I went over there and died just like that?" Chiyoko muttered this to herself without reason. "If I were that person’s lover, I’d run to meet him even for just a moment."

She also thought such things. While in an absentminded state—half-thinking, half-not—a sudden footstep made her whirl around in alarm to find H standing behind her with an intently focused expression.

“Oh!” Chiyoko nearly leapt at H. That he had come precisely when she’d been thinking such thoughts with such an expression made her unbearably happy. “Oh! I hadn’t the slightest idea—when? “Truly!” As she spoke these words, Chiyoko—pressing both hands to her cheeks as was her habit when delighted—gazed at the seam of H’s collar. “Were you truly so surprised?” “Had I thoughtlessly dropped by this afternoon when you depart—is your condition somewhat improved today?”

“Well, it’d be fine if I were better, but since yesterday I’ve been feeling oddly excited—so much that I get a bit dizzy sometimes—and there was something I’ve been a little worried about…” “What, are you worried about something? Surely you don’t mean it’s an inauspicious day?” “However much I say—well, it’s just like this. What if I—without seeing you today—just go off over there, and then suddenly get terribly ill or get swept away by a huge wave? How sad that’d be! And then, if perhaps when I’m dying—”

“Mr. H—” “Wouldn’t I call out ‘Mr. H—’ or something...”

Chiyoko said this and laughed. "Oh, come now—but really, how splendid! If I give you letters, will you send me some too? Hmm?" "How should I know? Besides, I can’t exactly write in secret, and I don’t care for writing out of mere obligation either…" "Then let’s just do what we can, okay? The seaside from now on will be splendid, won’t it—so quiet… You mustn’t write or read too much of all sorts of things, you know—it’s not about studying—just play around with a foolish sort of feeling… Since Father will likely be coming from Saturday to Sunday, I’ll come up too if it’s convenient."

“Will you truly come? But I can’t count on that—there might be no one to meet your face for about twenty days, you know.” “Yes truly—please return after twenty days have passed with a complexion so much better you’d hardly recognize it from today’s. For sure, right?” The two of them discussed such matters while remaining standing. “Mr. H and Chiyo-chan—won’t you come to the Western-style room? I’ve made tea...”

Because her mother had called out in a loud voice, Chiyoko pushed H from behind and entered the Western-style room.

“Chiyo-chan, since two of your handkerchiefs aren’t included elsewhere, bring out five or six with names sewn on them.” Being told this, she rattled the silver lock and opened the second drawer of the Western-style chest in the storehouse. As she sorted through the many handkerchiefs one by one, a blue piece of paper with something written in small brown ink caught her eye; it was tucked between her mother’s small linen handkerchiefs. Smiling faintly and trembling with curiosity, she pinched it between her index finger and thumb and pulled it out. It was folded in four and written on both sides. By looking at each of the written characters, she was able to imagine both that it was a letter from Shinobu of Iidamachi addressed to her and the contents written within.

"Why did he ever decide to write such a letter?" Chiyoko thought this without a flicker in her expression and began reading with composed tranquility. "A love letter that's every bit a love letter." With the gaze of a woman yearning for some younger man, Chiyoko critically appraised this letter sent by a man three years her senior. "My emotions aren't so naively simple that I'd blush or shed tears over such a love letter." Even were I to write love letters now to utterly aimless recipients, they'd contain more emotional truth than this—though should I become that person's lover, disappointment would surely follow—for my mind proves too burdensome to be his lover.

While thinking this, Chiyoko reflected as if admonishing Shinobu: “When one loves love itself, that’s when both sorrow and joy are felt most purely—without gaps or impurities.” After refolding the letter, tucking it back where it had been, and closing the drawer, she lightly shook her head and went to the Western-style room with a laugh; even when her unaware mother remarked, “That took quite a while,” she merely laughed again. Leaning against the deep chair as she stood there—during that restless time three hours prior when he had poured his heart into writing the letter—Chiyoko thought how Shinobu surely couldn’t even imagine it being read by a woman with such feelings. Gazing at H’s forest-like hair, she let slip a mocking laugh.

"If I were sent a letter like this at my age, I should turn bright red…"

When I thought of such things, I was suddenly overcome with a clownish feeling.

Wearing a sleek striped omeshi kimono with a chirimen haori over it, Chiyoko boarded the train from Hakusan with H, her father, and her brother.

(11) While swaying with the train’s motion, Chiyoko found herself gripped by contradictory impulses—an irrational dread of parting from H and a yearning to spend even a single day traveling somewhere together with him. Chiyoko, waiting to meet her mother—who was supposed to arrive by car—and staring fixedly at her father purchasing tickets, felt a strangely stifled emotion rise within her without cause. Chiyoko’s party walked briskly along the platform and entered the second-class car near the middle section that the porter had reserved for them.

The car was empty, with no apparent passengers besides Chiyoko's group of five. Having taken a seat at the very end, Chiyoko quietly watched as H and her father busied themselves arranging luggage on the overhead rack and securing her medicine bag against tipping over. I wish H would stop fussing and just stare at my face instead... She was thinking along those lines when the conductor passed through announcing the imminent departure. H—who had stepped down to the platform while replying to her mother's belated farewells and invitations to visit again—produced from his hitherto unnoticed sleeve the five-volume set of Chogyu's works that Chiyoko had often mentioned: "Older editions are better—we should find them to buy!"

“Please read this—if you please.” H placed them into Chiyoko’s hands.

"Oh, thank you ever so much—truly, this means more than anything! I've been saying this all along, you know. Are these yours?" "Oh yes, I bought them last year or thereabouts. Since I'm not specializing in such things, I simply put them aside after reading through them once... There may be some underlinings or markings here and there, but well—let's call it even." As H was saying this, the train began to move. "Well then—goodbye. Do take care of yourself—"

With these words, H removed his hat. “You’ve gone to such trouble for us.” “Truly—we’re most grateful.” While her parents expressed their thanks to H, who still walked alongside the slow-moving train, Chiyoko fixed her gaze on his eyes as though trying to burn them into her memory. When the train gained slight speed, Chiyoko leaned her body far out,

“Thank you—goodbye.” After calling out loudly and watching H wave his hat until he disappeared from view, she pulled her head back inside, feeling as though she were truly embarking on a journey. Pressing herself into the corner, she flipped through the book from H for no particular reason. In the middle lay a photograph H had taken during his Manchuria travels—Mongolian sheep chasing river ducks. As she gazed at it, she wondered if he remembered her saying during her illness, “How lovely—it perfectly captures our shared sensibility,” or something like that. After five or six stations passed, Mother spoke to Chiyoko.

“You seem rather tired, nee? It might do you good to look at the scenery or get some sleep.”

“That would be best. The sky’s so blue.” The fact that even Father was saying such things made Chiyoko feel as if her heart’s deepest recesses had been laid bare, leaving her with a hollow emptiness. Chiyoko obligingly closed her eyes and leaned against her mother’s shoulder. Leaning against the plush shoulder while listening to the rhythmic clatter—simple yet somehow meaningful—resounding deep in her ears, Chiyoko, who hadn’t felt particularly sleepy, became enveloped and before she knew it had softly melted into a dream.

When Chiyoko, alone and once again in good spirits, opened her eyes, they had nearly reached Kōzu, about four stops away. "You slept well, huh? Your complexion looks refreshed." Mother and Father exchanged glances and laughed as they fluffed out the flattened parts of Chiyoko’s hair and adjusted the disheveled sleeves of her kimono. The maid was cutting dried apricots into small pieces, sandwiching them between bread, and feeding them to the little brother in bite-sized portions. Chiyoko watched this with an innocent gaze. Her parents were laughing together about things like the Tamagawa property matter that had been an issue for some time now, the owner’s greediness, and the half-baked man acting as intermediary.

Listening to that conversation while observing the book, the scenery, and her brother eating his bread, Chiyoko remained in a state of disarray with scattered emotions until they alighted at the station. When they boarded the Yumoto-bound train connected to the station, there were about three provincial geishas from Odawara—the kind not worth mentioning—who had gotten on before Chiyoko and her group. Facing such women as she always did, Chiyoko once again struck a queenly pose. With a mere step or two, she composed her demeanor as befitting a daughter raised in the capital and like a woman well-versed in social graces.

The three women looked at Chiyoko’s stiffly worn kimono and tightly bound hairstyle with foolish, unbecoming eyes. In the end, despite Chiyoko having long been aware of their intentions, the three women proceeded to critique her through subtle gestures as if oblivious.

Mother whispered, “My, you’re quite something—even I have more flair than that,” and poked Chiyoko like a girl ten years her junior might do. Chiyoko smiled with her eyes, glanced at her mother’s profile, then looked at the three businesspeople. In both the roundness of her cheeks and the beauty of her eyes, Mother possessed twice over—far surpassing theirs—in thoughtfulness and loveliness. Whether in kimono or accessories, from every angle without exception, Mother was more beautiful. For no particular reason, Chiyoko felt happy, shrugged her shoulders, and bumped her own against Mother’s shoulder. The three women looked at Chiyoko, and Chiyoko looked back at them, each scrutinizing the other with the critical eyes inherent to their sex.

Chiyoko's group alighted from their carriage before Yōjōkan, where a man who had come to greet them loaded numerous trunks and dress cases onto a handcart, then pulled it away toward the sound of waves as the wheels crunched along the sandy path. The man effortlessly offered flattery about how eagerly the master and mistress had been waiting and how the children looked forward to hearing tales of Tokyo, chattering in a light tone and laughing boisterously.

(12) When the figures of Chiyoko and the others were reflected in the shop’s glass door, the housewife in the kitchen with her sleeves tied back with a sash,

“Oh, welcome—we’ve truly been waiting for you,” the housewife said as she emerged from afar leading the children. “Yes, we’ll be troubling you again—it’s just that this one has become a bit slow-witted, so…” Mother replied thus, and the two women who had known each other since their youth continued exchanging endless bows. Chiyoko gazed fixedly at the distant blue expanse of sea stretching before her as though drawn to its surface.

“Oh truly… poor dear, she’s grown a bit haggard, hasn’t she?” Though Chiyoko knew the housewife was looking at her face as she spoke this, she did not turn toward them.

Chiyoko, seated on the same second floor as during her previous visit, found joy in the dizzyingly blue sky blending into the sea through a purple haze, the sight of pure white waves shattering, and the distant echoes of boat songs drifting over. Leaning against the railing, Chiyoko gazed spellbound at the scenery endlessly. “Change into your kimono and let’s go to the beach. Hurry up.” Father said this and removed Chiyoko’s haori from behind. Wearing a purple arrow-patterned kimono with a red-tinged brocade obi tied in a small horizontal arrow shape and red-thonged sandals, Chiyoko walked through the deep sand, skipping every other step.

Father, as though rejuvenated, picked up pebbles to throw and played tag with her little brother among the crests of waves. Treating this as someone else's affair, Chiyoko stood with head bowed before nature's immensity. Into her convalescent heart—more sentimental than ever—the booming... boom-boom of waves seeped with solemn dignity. Each time waves washed the pebbles in their ebb and flow, the stones emitted a modest rounded glow between them—where these glows collided lay unknowable sentiments and rhythms—and with every retreating tide, the small stones rubbed against each other in mutual nods, chanting hymns to infinite nature.

Chiyoko became utterly engrossed in this subtle, meaningful sound for a time; then, when she regained awareness, the realization that she—so captivated by this sound—was human struck her as pitiable. As if groping through darkness, she melted into some unseen place and searched for the pride she had carried until now, now that her form lay concealed. Everything she could grasp, everything she could hold onto, was naught but gratitude toward nature. Filling her heart and body with this mass of gratitude, Chiyoko sat watching the sunset-reddened sky and the high-tide-deepened water surface, her face bearing a noble, composed artistic expression, unaware of time’s passage.

The sea’s broad breast intensified its pulse with each passing moment. The chest that until moments earlier had beaten like a nun’s—this very breast—now began to thump-thump distinctly with each breath, inhaling and exhaling all the world’s sorrows and joys, fortunes and misfortunes. The blueness deepened in tandem with the intensifying pulse. The sea’s violent disordered rhythm—like the moment a young virgin is swept into a young man’s embrace beneath his breath—sent its thump-thump reverberating through the sky to earth’s farthest reaches as it pressed toward Chiyoko.

As if responding in kind, the pale red swell of Chiyoko's chest throbbed in such disordered rhythm that it verged on madness. Yet Chiyoko made no move. The water surged and receded before her, baring white teeth as if smiling at her heart before melting back into the distant blueness. "I can feel nature so intensely it hurts," she thought. Chiyoko felt such joy she wanted to leap up and submerge herself in that azure expanse.

"Aaaaah..." Chiyoko's body, her heart filled to unbearable fullness, sank into sand that glittered and twinkled with gentle radiance. The sand rustled... rustled from all directions, resounding as it buried Chiyoko's body.

“Aaaaah...” Chiyoko’s unadorned, guileless inner voice turned into deft sound waves in the tranquil air and vanished completely.

Pulled by the maid who had come to meet her, Chiyoko returned to the inn with a dazed expression. Even after sitting at the dining table—where she felt she had truly reached the seaside—her heart remained captured by the beckoning tide’s rhythm, so much that she found herself picking grains of pure white rice one by one with crimson chopstick tips to eat. Under evening’s rather dim light, she sent H—who had to devote himself to daytime work in the dusty capital without anyone to console him—a brief message on a picture postcard.

Wrapped from head to toe in a white covering and enveloped in a comfortable night robe, Chiyoko fell asleep listening to the tide's laughter as her lullaby. By the time she awoke at six, she had done nothing but dream of H. Upon leaving her bed, she immediately went out to the beach and dipped her feet into the chilly water. Her feet, still warm and stuffy from having just awoken, felt as if being softly tickled. As she remained like this, her mind grew clear, and it seemed she could view things with an undoubting heart.

Scooping up water cupped in her plump white palm—still untouched by anything—she lightly loosened the fingers pressed together against her lips, and the water fell like a thread, sparkling in five thin colors as it trickled down. Chiyoko's day, begun thus, brimmed with nothing but joy from dawn till dusk. Day after day she gazed at the sea and spent her hours conversing with it. And so her complexion regained its vitality with each passing sunrise, while her enfeebled condition—imperceptibly yet steadily—began to mend.

Chiyoko was so captivated by the sea that she had no leisure to observe or criticize the surrounding travelers. Chiyoko’s heart had grown so childlike that nothing brought her greater joy than sitting on the beach from morning till night. The books she had brought intending to read remained piled atop the alcove case, their light covers merely fluttering fitfully in the occasional sea breeze; as for the manuscript paper, not a single character had been filled in—yet Mother, if anything,

“That’s the best thing possible,” she had said. As evening approached, Chiyoko wanted to stroll through Odawara’s streets where geishas abounded.

Though this occurred after she had grown quite accustomed to staying there, for Chiyoko—who lived in Tokyo’s Yamanote district—such sights were rather novel and instructive of life’s complexities: geishas with faces and figures so unremarkable one might wish to look away; briny-smelling men wrapped in purple handkerchiefs around their necks or others glittering garishly in gold-toned attire gathering with vapid, ignorant expressions; women clacking along in wooden clogs down Hakone’s mountain paths at dusk, their figures floating through violet mists as scattered lights glimmered along roads while they called out “Good evening—”.

On a drizzly day, Chiyoko went to buy books near the train depot, wearing a navy snake’s eye-patterned umbrella, red clogs, and a kimono with large motifs. The geishas, idle in the rain, peered out from windows and watched Chiyoko stride briskly with long steps, “She’s got no charm, huh.” saying things like, “That’s how they walk in Tokyo.” they’d say things like that.

As if she had already grown accustomed to such things, she walked on and on without lowering her gaze, keeping her eyes fixed straight ahead. The men passing by would step a foot or two wider to avoid her, and to Chiyoko— She felt like letting out a stifled laugh. When she entered the spacious store and immediately began scanning the books from shelves down to the counter with a bold gaze, the clerk seated at the checkout counter watched with widened eyes, “Welcome, please take your time…”

He had a flustered manner of speaking. That day, she bought *That Previous Night* and *O-Kinu* and returned home.

“Books are more expensive than Tokyo’s despite having nothing decent.” She had been pondering this all along her path.

In the evening, she went out to the balcony where the pitch-black sea was visible below and began reading the book she had bought under the bright electric light.

However, Chiyoko—unable to shake the sense that the book she was reading somehow clashed with the surrounding atmosphere—deliberately went to exchange it for *Salome*. In the darkness after turning off the lights—where there was only her own pulse, the sea’s pulse, the whiteness of crashing waves, and her pale face—Chiyoko sank into endless-seeming meditation, casting the noble verse “Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean—roll!” toward the sea’s surface that beat its dark solemn rhythm with a low sacred voice.

When her beautiful dreamlike state was shattered by the clamorous sound of gagaku music and she returned to reality—at that fleeting moment of emotional transition—Chiyoko knew H had become a blue luminescence streaking across her vision. Amidst the clamor, she contemplated H as a solitary being—one who had to labor and take joy alone while softly shielding his own quiet heart within. As these thoughts swirled—

“In form I live surrounded by many people, but they are merely those who would cling desperately to me for their very survival—spiritually, whether in joy or sorrow, I must remain all alone……” When I had said, “Rather than two incompatible spirits being forced together against their will, isn’t it better for one to think freely without reservation?”

She remembered having said that herself. "No matter how you look at it," she thought, "it’s pitiful that someone his age doesn’t have a wife—" "The reason he finds it harder than most to even consider marriage emotionally is because he experienced unexpected bitter sorrow when still very young at heart!"

"But I mustn't interfere with that person's life—if I do, bad things are bound to happen." She had been thinking such things. That her life should become disordered because of a single man—that she should feel this inescapable clinging—was to Chiyoko an unwelcome and disagreeable thing. No matter what anyone said, the fact that she loved H was something not even Chiyoko's heart could deny,

"No—that's not it." She couldn't make herself think otherwise. As if trying to wipe away the thoughts she had persistently harbored until now, she recited from memory a line from Salome in a sing-song voice. "Yokaan'na! I'm enraptured by your body! "Your body remains pure white like lilies in a field untouched by any sickle. "Your body is like snow upon the mountains—" Chiyoko—who had closed her eyes and somehow begun gesturing without realizing—the moment she perceived that the footsteps approaching from behind belonged to a still-young man, immediately snatched up the switch and slipped diagonally past the dumbfounded, grease-stained man into her room.

Mother, as soon as she saw Chiyoko’s face, “Tomorrow, perhaps the children, Cousin Gen, and Mr. H will come—they’re supposed to arrive here at four o’clock…” she said in an unmistakably cheerful voice. “Yes—how nice neee… Let’s go meet them.” In a tone that belied her true feelings, Chiyoko replied. Looking at her mother’s face as she held a half-read magazine, Chiyoko felt compelled to contemplate the nature of time. That night, until quite late, Mother talked to Chiyoko about her own youth and the hardships she endured with her mother-in-law. Chiyoko believed that enduring a mother-in-law’s harshness was a suffering she would never accept in her own life.

The time until four o’clock the next day felt interminably long. The possibility that H might come piqued Chiyoko’s curiosity. They had waited with some anticipation and rejoiced with some delight, but those who alighted from the train were only the children and Cousin Gen.

The children gathered around Mother and their own little brother, telling them everything from the recent hatching of chicks to a single rose blooming, the mice that had started appearing in my room, and even the increasing tears in the shoji screens. Mother laughed while listening to their reports and pulled each child’s hand or rubbed their head. Amid an unprecedented liveliness for such an unseasonable time, this house—usually quiet despite its many guests—resounded with high-pitched laughter. In the glass-walled recreation room, they gathered in a circle to play cards and sing; Chiyoko even played the organ in an off-key manner.

The children of this house, who had been reserved around Chiyoko as a woman, now sat utterly delighted—two of them wedged between her three younger brothers with cheeks flushed crimson. They had laughed uproariously until nearly midnight, but when Cousin Gen retired first, the visiting children went to sleep in the spacious downstairs hall just for that night. Mother wrote in her diary while Chiyoko scribbled fragmented impressions before going to bed with a hollow, gap-riddled emptiness in her chest.

The next day, after tumbling about in the sand all day long, the children were taken back to Tokyo by Cousin Gen. Knowing that until their departure Cousin Gen wore an expression suggesting he wanted to be alone with her, Chiyoko deliberately kept avoiding him.

Unable to stay in the room that had suddenly become like after a storm, Chiyoko slipped barefoot through the sand from the rear to the beach and sat down on smooth, cool sand. A nameless sadness filled Chiyoko’s heart. To think she was soaking her deep-hued body in this pale mouse-colored light while crying with such emotions struck her as something delicately beautiful—a fragile, wavering thing.

She felt as though with each tear that trickled—trickled—down, she was releasing her pent-up emotions. She was sobbing like a young child over things she couldn’t even understand. While crying, Chiyoko’s heart—even as it grieved—danced lightly with supreme joy.

When her long sleeves and shoulders, dampened by the night dew, had taken on a melancholy chill, Chiyoko returned to her room with her face full of laughter. And then she soon fell asleep.

Three days later, on a sweltering day that made one lightheaded, Chiyoko was invited by a fourteen-year-old boy and went to gather lotus flowers at Komine Field, a short distance away. The boy typically stood slightly hunched with his gaze downcast, possessing a nervous-looking broad forehead, prominent lips, and an absurdly ruddy complexion. The slender white nape of his neck, where hair curled into a small whorl before cascading down, filled Chiyoko with unbearable delight. He had a voice as clear as a six-year-old child's and skin smooth to the touch.

Hand in hand, they made their way along a narrow path—one side bordered by woods encircling a marsh, the other a trail through fields that sloped like hills. The clatter of their zori sandals produced rhythms attuned to the season's mood. They walked a considerable distance wrapped in mutual silence. "Still quite far... I'm getting rather tired." When Chiyoko spoke in a manner that leaned entirely on her diminutive companion, the boy flushed crimson and—

“Just a little more…”

he said in a pleasant voice and turned around. “You’re called Tatchan, aren’t you? Do you know my name?” Chiyoko peered into his face, laughing, and said. “Yes!”

“Do you know my name too?” “Yes.” “What is it? Go on, say it.” “But… they call you Chiyoko-chan…” “Oh, so that’s really what they call me… It’s a cute name, don’t you think?”

Exchanging such words and laughing together, they reached Komine. Among the blue grasses mingled white and purple ones blooming with dazzling brilliance. Tatchan immediately bent down and began gathering them, murmuring "pretty ones, pretty ones" as he picked. Chiyoko searched meticulously, plucking them gradually while occasionally calling out in a high voice— "The one called Tatchan," she would sing out or break into song. "You know," he warned, "there's a snake hole here—if you're not careful and fall in, it'll be dangerous..."

Tatchan, who was standing a short distance away from Chiyoko, spoke in a tone that suggested he thought he had to protect her. “Oh? Then if I were about to fall, would you help me?” “If a snake comes out, I’ll say, ‘Chase it away for me,’ but even if you don’t run away and come closer, you’ll have to be the first to get bitten, you know.” “Yes.” Tatchan’s earnest, resolute reply made Chiyoko feel it seemed almost wasteful.

"He may be like this now," she thought, "but in four or five years he'll become just another boy with that voice and appearance I detest—the kind that makes me recoil."

She also thought such things. Tatchan picked the flowers one by one, as if with some grand purpose. When he had piled up so many that they nearly overflowed his hands, Tatchan smiled bashfully and— “I’ll give you all of these—there are so many now…” With that, he placed into Chiyoko’s arms a pale purple bouquet resembling a cloud.

Chiyoko walked back along the path they had come, arms laden with flowers until her hands felt weary, keeping pace with Tatchan. At the hill where a narrow pea field had been cultivated, he plucked from its roots a single vine thick with blossoms resembling white butterflies fastened by red ribbons, draping it over her other arm. Though Tatchan showed her every kindness— What does he think I am? Will he always remember and cherish me? He treats me far too much like a child.

Thinking such things, she recalled something like a young woman would and flushed crimson.

There was something about this boy—how his nervous demeanor would occasionally give way to blushes and faint smiles—that struck Chiyoko as inexplicably endearing. As she gazed at his smooth white forehead and imagined how soon it would grow oily and darken, no matter how beautifully noble it appeared now, the thought conjured such a viscerally repulsive prospect—so nauseatingly imminent it made her shudder—that she found herself unable to caress or even touch him.

Adorned with flowers, Chiyoko returned home. She filled a large glass with as many flowers as would fit and placed the pea vine in the flower holder of the tokonoma. After arranging flowers into a rounded arrangement in a small cup, Chiyoko tiptoed to place it on Tatchan’s desk adorned with a Madonna picture, then bowed slightly to the housewife peering through the lattice shadows with a smile before slipping into her room. Mother,

“Oh my, you picked so many! Was it a lovely spot?”

she asked in a bright, cheerful voice. “Yes, quite a lot! But there’s a spot on the path too narrow for someone like you to pass through, Mother, so we’d surely have to go from Mr. Ninomura’s side instead. Would you like me to take you there?” While replying, Chiyoko was thinking of enclosing these still-beautiful flowers in a letter to send to H.

That day too passed without deep thought, without recalling or pondering anything.

The night was dark with nothing but stars crowding the sky. Evidence of fishing activity lit the shore—bonfires and human warmth made it burn intermittently. The red glow swayed with the waves as if carrying news to dwellers on the distant land. The sound of a horagai shell being blown seemed to tug at Chiyoko’s heart, pulling it toward some unknown place. Standing beside her mother while watching that feverish radiance, Chiyoko found herself overwhelmed by boundless sorrow through the horagai’s call—as if she alone had fled the capital to reach this place.

“There must be quite a catch tonight, huh?” While gazing at her mother’s profile as though it were some rare object, the rounded warmth of H’s voice welled up within Chiyoko’s heart. Gnawing on the stiffened tip of a brush that seemed emblematic of this provincial place, she began writing a letter to H in characters even clumsier than usual. Chiyoko—who could never rest until tearing up any draft whose opening displeased her, whether decently written or not—kept creating scrap after scrap of paper, hurling them haphazardly about.

And when she finally finished writing it and read it back, it wasn't a letter she particularly liked, but Mother had come and waited—either to add some note in the margin or, failing that, to write her own name beside Chiyoko's. Mother, who had been downstairs talking with a housewife about land prices here, came up laughing.

“Oh? What did you write?” “To Mr. H’s place—if you need to add something after looking it over, Mother, then please do—I want to send it before the flowers wilt…” “You needn’t send letters to Mr. H—there’s no reason! Didn’t you send a postcard when we arrived? He hasn’t replied at all—really now, no need to be so persistent…”

“I don’t write because I want a reply—I wrote simply because I felt compelled to.” “I fundamentally disapprove of sending letters to men.” “I’ll show you exactly what I wrote—there’s nothing improper about sending it this way. What’s more, I’ve included your name in your own hand, haven’t I?” “That may be true, but still…” “No matter the circumstances, I would never write some secret letter!”

While saying such things, Chiyoko wondered why we had to be making such a commotion over a mere letter. "What nonsense!" The thought flashed through her mind like lightning before she pressed on: "You're wavering whether to permit me sending this or not, aren't you Mother? If you approve, either sign your name here or simply say yes."

She said with an unswerving gaze, as if declaring it best to settle everything quickly. “Really now, that’s something requiring deliberation.” Having given this noncommittal reply, Mother kept scrutinizing the sprawling characters that meandered across the lengthy letter before her. The two sat silent, each absorbed in separate thoughts while listening to children’s laughter and a maid’s giggles mingling with wave sounds. “Mother, isn’t this absurdly trivial? You who pride yourself on rationality—now wavering?”

Mother remained silent, her eyes somehow restless as she gazed here and there.

“Ah, in that case, let’s just stop sending it, Mother—it’s too troublesome.”

As soon as she said this, she gathered the long letters and began tearing them one after another. The sound of the thick, pure white paper being torn into tiny pieces was a sorrowful hiss.

“Who cares about any of it?” she thought with a resolute glare, yet felt an empty chill creeping through her. “It’s not writing worth preserving as scrap paper, nor is the penmanship remarkable—and there’s no recipient deserving of it anyway.” With deliberate affectation, Chiyoko uttered these words in a low voice. Mother silently observed her actions, but “Exactly—this is wiser. Such matters invite misunderstanding…”

Having said this perfunctorily, she was looking at the letters crumpled into tiny clumps. Through the gaps between the crumpled papers, the finest of the selected lotus flowers peeked out, making Chiyoko feel as though she were being reproached. As if wanting to dispel the lingering tension between them, they then made as much merry as they could by composing boastful haiku and carrying on noisily. Seeing that Chiyoko did not seem to be dwelling deeply on the matter, Mother cheerfully jotted down trivial things as they laughed together—but for Chiyoko, there was no joy beyond the fact that her own efforts had succeeded.

During the long hours she lay awake, Chiyoko tearfully gazed at the faces of her mother, a child, and the maid with the small nose. While doing so, blinking her eyes open and shut, she couldn't help thinking about H—with whom she'd grown strangely close—and herself. I am not in love with H at all; I can assert that I am not. But I sympathize with him; I trust him to some extent; even separated like this, there are times I remember him—undoubtedly, that man occupies a part of my mind. We may become those who cannot part even while knowing we are unhappy.

As she kept thinking like this—fearing she might even contemplate matters too far into the distant future, matters that shouldn't exist—she covered her ears as if to block out these thoughts and burrowed into her futon.

"What nonsense! There's nothing to be anxious about! As long as I stay resolute, things will settle themselves without fail. And if we both were to lose ourselves—if whichever of my desired paths this love takes were to satisfy one of us—then that would be fine. But I mustn't show any half-heartedness—as long as I maintain that resolve at all times, that's what matters. If I do that, I probably won't manage to fall in love while living like this—but that's just fine too."

While trying not to think, she found herself thinking those very things.

Ah... With a faint smile, Chiyoko fell asleep just like that. When she startled awake from a dream where she and H had been cast into a deep valley by an invisible force, night had fully given way to dawn. With an unpleasant sensation of having been confronted by visions of her own future—and futures that should never come to pass—she watched the slowly undulating sea surface and white sails swelling listlessly. The next day and the day after that, Chiyoko lived with a listless heart that felt split in two. Each time the weary-looking sea let out a bored yawn,

“My face has reddened and we’ve stayed over twenty days already—it’s surely time to return. If we keep lingering here like this, I’ll become a complete fool.” She kept repeating this to Mother—whose face showed equal weariness from the strain of safeguarding her two children among strangers while managing countless other concerns. “That would be best indeed. I too have grown weary of staying—once four or five more days pass, let us return.”

Even the maid, who normally seemed indifferent to everything, looked pleased when she heard this— “Miss, I’ve truly...” That was all she managed to say. Mother too carried hidden sufferings during this trip—having endured society’s hardships since her marriage yet being unaccustomed to inn life, compounded by her proud disposition and lofty ideals that others couldn’t perceive. While wanting to present her young daughter as perfectly groomed and refined as possible, she found herself wishing she could keep the girl sheltered whenever men glanced her way or made comments—such was her anxiety.

To fret alone over needless anxieties—whether the small children might venture into the sea or fall and scar their foreheads—and having to manage these concerns with a mind already somewhat neurasthenic was both agonizing and something she had to endure. To tell the truth, Mother had grown tired of the sea before Chiyoko did, but even though the very person she had brought along did not say she disliked it, nor did it seem particularly enjoyable, she felt that suggesting they return would appear rather irresponsible.

“Let’s go back already.” Mother had been eagerly waiting for her to say this. They decided to make a call to Tokyo and depart the following day. Chiyoko appeared even more cheerful than when she had come here. She helped even with her mother’s maid’s sluggish packing, her eyes gleaming jet-black and her complexion healthily capricious. The previous night, she had stayed awake with eyes wide open all night, so buoyant was her heart.

She listened intently to the innkeeper couple’s polite farewells and the children’s parting words, then took the train to Kōzu and boarded the regular train.

Swaying along with the motion, Chiyoko looked back on the rather hectic departure and recalled various things. There was that time when the inn maid had dropped something from her hands while watching me have my hair done that day—back then—no, on this day—Chiyoko repeated these things as if they were long-past events: going to Komine at the very end, the matter of the letter, and then just now when Tatchan had— “Goodbye, see you again.” The words he had spoken came back to her.

"In my hurried state, I had only lightly held Tatchan’s head and kept holding onto it, but—"

Chiyoko still felt there was something she had forgotten—something left undone. While casually chatting with the children and her mother, Chiyoko watched the town gradually take on metropolitan airs with a bright, radiant face. “Mother, isn’t it wonderful—I’ve regained my health and can return to Tokyo—” She would occasionally say such things while shrugging her shoulders or arching her eyebrows. Chiyoko thought how delightful it was that each time their eyes met, she could smile back at the not-so-old Englishwoman sitting in the corner of the same compartment—who kept glancing her way with smiles and gestures that seemed to want conversation.

When they arrived at Shimbashi and she reached for the door, she first spotted Mr. H and Cousin Gen's heads among those who had come to greet them, then noticed two rickshaw men standing beside her father straining upward. When she stretched out her hand and waved two or three times from the high position, all those people noticed and stood before the car where Chiyoko was. As Mother was with Father, the children with the rickshaw men, and Chiyoko was helped down by Cousin Gen and H, such joy welled up in her chest that she wanted to sing out full-throated.

“Ah! I’ve truly returned—truly—” She said in a sigh-like voice that trembled through the air, smiling at each face in turn. When told she should ride in the car too—since Mother and the children were returning that way— “It’s been nearly a month! Oh how I’ve longed to take the train!” That Chiyoko clung playfully to her father’s arm made an uncommon sight. Each jolt of the packed train car—the press of H’s shoulder against hers, the stumbling toward Father’s steadying form, the cry of evening paper hawkers—all these things glimmered before Chiyoko as fragments of joy.

The fifteen or sixteen blocks from the train station that she walked—when she first saw the pillar of the house where she was born—were filled with such nostalgic radiance that she wanted to leap over and press her cheek against it. Expecting dustiness when she opened her room, she found a newly hung framed picture. On the desk lay two fresh magazines neatly aligned, while in a reddish-brown unglazed pot, pale red trembling flowers faced Chiyoko's direction—laughing as they tilted their heads. Poking piano keys with her pinky, flipping through books, bantering with everyone—Chiyoko couldn't sit still even a moment until darkness had completely fallen outside.

The younger brothers who had stayed behind, overjoyed at their sister’s return, refrained from lifting her bodily into the air and instead—along with the small child—formed a clustered mass that circled through the house laughing as though raising a battle cry. “What splendid timing for your homecoming! With tomorrow being Sunday, we can even stay up late tonight…”

Mr. H and Cousin Gen, who had come together, smiled at everyone’s cheerful faces and made such remarks. After the meal, when everyone had gathered in a circle, Chiyoko stood up and addressed each person in turn— “You’ve gotten darker.” “Your hands seem to have grown larger.” While making these comments, she thoroughly scrutinized their faces and bodies as she moved around. “Ah! Father’s bald spot has sprouted a bit!” “Oh! Tadashi-chan, you—” The person being addressed looked equally pleased. When she came before Mr. H,

“You haven’t changed a bit since before, have you?” she said, then turned to Cousin Gen— “You’ve been studying so hard you’re practically becoming my successor!” Saying such things, she felt she had completely forgotten herself. With Father in the bath and Mother tending to the children, Chiyoko—now alone with just H and Gen—murmured in a hushed voice: “The seaside these days grows so quiet it might drive a sensitive person mad if they stayed too long—with those thick, glowing colors and fragrances—don’t you think?”

“Ah! There truly came a time when I wanted to return—it felt as though my heart had divided into two.” “Now that I think about it, staying quietly at home might have been better after all. Without even observing the people at the same inn, I wasted so much time, you see.” “That’s exactly what’s good about it. Look here—your face has reddened, and your eyes appear perfectly healthy.” Mr. H said while staring intently at Chiyoko’s face. Chiyoko held Mr. H and Cousin Gen’s hands with both of hers, raising and lowering them to shoulder height. She had become so carefree in spirit that she could frolic about doing such meaningless things without a second thought.

Starting two days later, Chiyoko went to school. Every teacher and every friend, "Oh! You came!" and so on, "Oh! It's been so long—how good you've come!" and such things were said to her. From that very day onward, she attended school every single day with seemingly energetic regularity, though sometimes bearing a pale face from sleepless nights. H came punctually about every other day. The routine of him arriving past six o'clock and talking late into the night had settled into their household's custom.

When H came, it was always an established rule that he would leave at eleven-thirty; the family members referred to that eleven-thirty as the appointed hour.

The five months since Chiyoko had returned from Odawara passed by rather quickly without any significant changes occurring. During that time, H and Chiyoko’s family went on outings to Enoshima together, and occasionally went to see plays or listen to music. Each time, H and Chiyoko, along with those around them, grew closer. H even came to consult Mother about various complicated financial matters. As H came more frequently, the times they spent alone together also increased. However, Chiyoko neither particularly rejoiced in such things nor found them unpleasant. She simply came to regard it as a normal occurrence.

On a balmy day when chrysanthemums blazed in full splendor, Chiyoko's mother casually remarked: "You see—women must mind even the most trifling matters... And at your age especially, you'll have all sorts of things said about you unless you're thoroughly discreet in every particular. Take care not to give gossiping maids any fodder for their wagging tongues."

“So even when Mr. H comes, you mustn’t chatter or joke around too much—those sorts will start spreading idle gossip, you know.”

Chiyoko listened silently, but she knew both why these things were being said and what had motivated their mention. After hearing such words, she came to understand how deeply her mother worried about her relationship with Mr. H—and just how far those suspicions might extend. "Mother might believe something has developed between Mr. H and me—but even if she does think that, there’s no need for me to laboriously prove otherwise; such matters will resolve themselves naturally."

She thought such things, and that was all. And so from around that time onward, she kept writing what she had started—though it remained disjointed. Koko, who had been close to Chiyoko, grew increasingly distant—so much so that her anger over Chiyoko not sending a single letter during her seaside stay seemed justified—and was becoming ever more removed from Chiyoko’s life. “Hey Koko—don’t you think you’ve been acting rather differently lately? And then...”

Looking at Koko’s small forehead with her bangs swept high, such remarks were not merely once or twice. With each occurrence of such exchanges, their hearts steadily advanced toward distant realms. Koko now devoted herself earnestly to bridal preparations and domestic affairs—matters she had never seriously engaged with before—seeming to have entirely forgotten all she had once known and pondered. What remained of her knowledge was merely clinging to what she had earlier memorized, growing increasingly estranged from literature until her passion for it had waned to barely a flicker compared to former days.

Chiyoko gazed sorrowfully at those people while resolutely advancing along the path she felt compelled to take. "Female friends—especially ones our age—are such trivial things. They grow intimate in an instant when it suits them, then drift apart just as quickly without a shred of lingering attachment." "And they don't even realize how foolish they become, obsessing over nothing but marriage." "In another year or two, I might find myself completely alone."

There were times when she would talk to H about her childhood friend from elementary school days and have him delight in it as if it were his own. Chiyoko, who was prone to getting absorbed in things, found herself constantly preoccupied with Koko’s recent behavior. On the other hand, she also found herself constantly thinking about Moko, who sincerely cared for her.

On a day when the yellow sunlight felt irritatingly itchy, H—who had come in the afternoon—was in the Western-style house alone with Chiyoko since both her parents were out. They laughed at trivial matters, gazed at each other’s faces with contemplative expressions while remaining silent, played the piano, or sang songs. “The children are quiet too—it’s such a nice day… so calm…” “It’s truly calm, isn’t it?” “Chiyoko-san has something good to tell you…”

“Please do.” “The other night, there was a time when you weren’t out, right? Look, when I went to Nakanishiya, Mother was saying…” “‘Don’t you have anyone in mind for Chiyoko? I’ve already mentioned this to Father before—it’s high time we made some sort of arrangement, you know. When I met Mr. Chūta, I said the same thing… Ideally, someone in engineering with a touch of literary taste—what do you think?’”

“When I said ‘I’m still fine not doing such things yet,’ she went ‘That’s not how it is!’ you know—Miss Chiyoko…”

Chiyoko listened while laughing unreservedly, neither blushing nor moving a muscle. As H spoke, sometimes constricting his voice or flushing his face, Chiyoko found him pitiable. "Oh! She said that? How premature!" "Even if you say that, you can't remain unmarried your whole life." "Well, I can't say whether I will or won't... If there were someone I wanted to marry desperately enough to die for, then perhaps I would..."

“Oh? You’re certain?” “Yes, definitely.” “Then if there were someone who wanted you so badly they’d die?” “Oh, stop that! Who knows how many people have used those words since ancient times—and saying such things makes you sound like some country bumpkin caked in thick makeup...” “Oh, you think so?” “Yes, I do think so.” People these days—when their beloved women, “‘I’d stake my life on it...’” when they said,

“‘How many times have you said that?’ People have started brushing you off like that, you know…” “……”

H was silently gazing at the large Madonna portrait. Chiyoko, feigning ignorance, looked away and tapped her foot, repeating a nonsensical little song. A brief moment lingered long in the silence between them. “Are you angry?”

H turned around and saw Chiyoko keeping rhythm with a faint smile playing about her lips.

“No, it’s nothing—” “Then come over here more, and tell me something, won’t you?” H’s voice clung to Chiyoko’s ears like viscous honey. “What should we talk about, I wonder?”

“Anything you want to talk about.” “I don’t quite know what I want to talk about right now—” “Then let me speak instead, won’t you?” H shook his body, took a deep breath, and began to speak. “You know, Miss Chiyoko—when I went to Numazu the other day and even after returning, there were people everywhere trying to arrange a bride for me. But I resolutely turned down each one and have never once felt regretful or pathetic about it.” “That is—well, I am waiting until the woman whom the heavenly God specially made as someone I could properly love appears before me.” “I believe that person will appear—and I’m wishing with all my heart for her to stand before me as soon as possible...”

He let out an even deeper, more earnest sigh than before.

“So you’re waiting?” “Yes, that’s truly how it is—God will surely create such a person for you.” “But such a precious thing wouldn’t appear so readily and carelessly, would it?”

“But if she did appear, you’d be happy, right? These days, instead of that, there are women specially made by Satan for men—and men just like them, you know.”

“Is that so…” “You know, Mr. H—don’t you feel the same? It’s already been a year since I first met you, and quite a lot has changed in that time, you know. That I’ve grown taller, become a tiny bit cleverer, written and read all sorts of things—all that just makes my head age two years for every one that passes, and I’m not joking.” “Truly, you know—it’s already been a year. This past year has been quite different in content for me compared to all the ones before.”

“First—that I’ve been allowed to grow so close to your household here, that Mother and you have become both my confidants and my comforters—truly, I cannot express how indescribably happy this makes me. For someone like me who must remain alone and struggle, having a household like this is truly the greatest blessing…”

“The increase in people who become close to you—anyone would be happy about that, you know.” “But someone like you, being loved by everyone—you wouldn’t feel it so keenly, would you?” “If I had to choose—rather than the joy of three new people becoming close to you, even losing someone you were only moderately close to brings pain that’s far more intense.” “Anyone leaving who’s been by my side—I hate it, truly…”

“But you’re truly a fortunate person!” “Mr. H—you’ve known me for over a year now, yet you still address me as ‘Miss Chiyoko.’ Why?” “Why? Because if I called you ‘Chiyo-chan,’ you’d surely get angry…” “If it were someone I’d just met, I wouldn’t merely get angry—I wouldn’t even glance their way. But we’re past that now, aren’t we? Go on—try calling me Chiyo-chan. If it feels strange, revert to how it was before. And if it suits you, keep it that way.”

“Chiyo-chan—” “It’s not strange at all—in fact, it’s much better this way. Will you keep calling me that from now on?” “You know?”

“Yes, Chiyo-chan—” H would call Chiyoko’s name and listen intently; Chiyoko too would listen with an air of hearing someone else’s name.

“Hey, we’ve become rather close, haven’t we?” “Is that so? I don’t think you’ve opened up to me that much.” “That’s just the sort of person I am—someone who can love intensely while also detesting intensely. Even if I were to open up completely, there might still be things you’d never understand.” “Can we become even closer than this?” “I certainly can.” “I don’t know—what would you do if I were to die tomorrow or the day after?” “Whether we grow closer or not would become meaningless then.” “But being uncomplicated tea companions as an old man and old woman wouldn’t be so terrible either, you know.”

“There’s no chance of us growing apart, right?” “I don’t know about that either—there probably isn’t such a chance. It’s better not to make too many promises like that, you know.” “In that case, I’ll make the promise alone—I swear we’ll never fall out, no matter what happens…”

H said this and made a small cross over his forehead. “I like you—so if I were to die while you’re still healthy, I’ll call for you. When it’s your time to die, I’ll go to you.” “But when the time comes, you’ll tremble for sure, won’t you?” “Yes, I am afraid of dying—until the person God will grant me appears before my eyes…” “When they appear, will you just drop dead together with them?”

“You shouldn’t mock things like that—I’m speaking seriously, you know.” “So we’re assessing each other’s destinies—yours and mine? What a disagreeable matter.” “…………” Chiyoko had grown weary—both of feigning ignorance toward H’s thoughts that she understood perfectly well, and of expressing her own lofty heart with words that barely captured a tenth of its depth. Her mind became a tangled mess as she leaned against the chair’s back. Her head turned light while her body began floating weightlessly.

“Is today’s weather so foul? My head has grown terribly strange.” “You’re pointing out the irony in what I said earlier, aren’t you?” “That’s not it at all.” “Just look—I’m holding my head! It’s burning up. This is real, I tell you!” “Is that so? What could be the matter?”

H quietly paced around the room.

At times, he would let out a slight cough or pause to observe Chiyoko’s seemingly distressed and willful manner.

“You’re the type who never says anything outright—like a daughter—” Chiyoko pushed down the lump rising in her chest again and again and said: “Yes… because I have to do it that way…”

H, standing before Chiyoko, saw her shedding tears; from his own eyes too, tears threatened to spill without reason.

“You’ve become quite hysterical—”

He said only this. And then he sat down in the chair before Chiyoko and stared into her crimson-glowing eyes. "Just now—I suddenly felt so unbearably sorry for you—and then the tears came at once—that's all there is to it—"

Chiyoko came to feel so uncontrollably sorry for H that she wanted to cry out loud like a three-year-old. "You truly are a pitiable person, but a time when good things come will arrive before long, you know." In a voice like that of an aged Christian, Chiyoko said. "Do you truly find me pitiable?" "Really... If that's how it is, then just lay yourself bare to me."

“No, you see—I think it’s best for us to remain just as close as we are now.” “If we were to grow apart, it would be sorrowful indeed, and even if we were to grow too close, it seems some misfortune would await us in the end... When sad things occur, it’s better for us to comfort each other and remain friends until we grow old.” “If we become too close, then surely both of us will end up having to do things against our will and harbor feelings we’d rather not have…”

“What you think and what you say contradict each other, don’t they? You must want to grow as close to me as possible—just as I do—” “I might think that way—but I hate making those I care about, my dear friends, feel sorrow or hardship because of me.” “Surely misfortune isn’t predestined.” “It usually is—I’m a woman who can’t stay still and dotes on her capricious whims of the moment, someone who can’t suppress or hide her feelings just for the sake of becoming a couple……”

“Will you live alone until you die?” “Even now, I’m not alone—around my house and body are countless invisible things.” “Powerful forces gather there. By believing in them and conversing with them, I can live out sixty or fifty years—and that brings me the greatest happiness.” “With that, I am content.”

“Now, Chiyo-chan—I’ll speak my heart plainly. Please listen without anger.” “I care for you deeply—moreover, I believe you embody everything I could ever desire. I wish for us to remain inseparable throughout our lives...” “Yet even were I to ask this of you, you would refuse.” H’s face flushed crimson as he spoke. Chiyoko, who had been listening in silence, felt fresh tears spring to her eyes once more.

“Why do you think that way? It’s because you don’t fully know me yet that you can think that way. You must come to know more of my flaws too, you know.”

"I will surely refuse, but I do like you—it’s because I like you that I say this." "Then must we really remain friends until we die? I......" "I might be a good woman as your friend, but I wasn’t born to become anything more than that—it’s for the best—" "But we can’t end up separated, can we?"

“Yes, we certainly can’t do that—if we did, I would grieve…”

“Then must I remain content with things just as they are?” “That way is best for both of us, you see.”

When she said this, both H and Chiyoko were on the verge of tears. Why does this person keep looking at me so intently? They forget that becoming too close with me will only bring misfortune upon themselves—Shinobu, Cousin Gen—ah, ah, I can’t stand it anymore.

Chiyoko was thinking this. "Why is this Chiyo-chan person like this?" she wondered, "Not like a young woman but as someone always thinking—despite being an emotional woman—I can only wait silently for this person’s heart to perhaps change." H swallowed his welling tears and gazed at Chiyoko’s face—her upturned eyes fixed in a look that seemed both deeply contemplative and as though she were suppressing her own heart. H’s head began to spin.

“Miss Chiyoko, you—” H slumped over onto the desk. Chiyoko lowered her upward-gazing eyes to look at H. White fingers covered a face; jet-black supple hair trembled gently. Just as H’s hair was trembling, so too trembled Chiyoko’s heart.

“Mr. H, please don’t go that far—it’s not something a man should do to such an extent, you know? I’m starting to feel strange…” Chiyoko was gently cradling H’s head. In Chiyoko’s motionless head, Cousin Gen’s demeanor, Shinobu’s letter—such things lined up and passed through.

“Ahh, how dreadful—I don’t possess a heart so naive as to blush or tear up at every trifling matter like that—If only I could vanish somewhere—if I went where strangers dwell—even there, being part of this world, it would still amount to the same fleeting existence—Ahh, I truly—”

Chiyoko wanted to push everyone aside and disappear somewhere. So much that she wanted to cry out loud, Chiyoko was overcome with an indescribable feeling.

"Why hadn’t Mr. H remained a motionless art object that neither eats nor sleeps?" "If only he had stayed that way for me, I might have been able to fall madly in love—" Chiyoko suddenly found herself thinking such a thing.

He stayed until past ten at night, “Well then... may you have sweet dreams.” Having said that, H returned home; walking with his head bowed along the dark path as though bearing some hidden sorrow suddenly made Chiyoko feel vulnerable.

"We’re becoming lost about what to do." Chiyoko muttered softly and hardly slept that night.

Even after that, Chiyoko knew there were many times when her mother pressed her ear against the glass door to listen during moments when she was alone with H. H also knew. At such times, the two of them would exchange faint, lonely-looking smiles. “She’s overexerting herself with worry!”

There had been times when they had inserted such remarks into their conversations. During moments when Chiyoko had nothing to do or sank into deep contemplation, "Among the three people surrounding me, I like H best—and he's the one who embodies the most qualities I love!" "Mr. H keeps going like that day after day with those sorrowful eyes—will he continue living all alone even from now on, I wonder..." She suddenly found herself thinking these things.

"Am I in love with H? If so—" She even thought this.

And so, each time H came, Chiyoko began to doubt her own heart. "Hey, Mother—what do you think of Mr. H?" When Chiyoko asked how H appeared through her eyes—eyes that had seen many people— "He doesn't drink or smoke, is a rather worn-down person who's known hardship, and though somewhat reserved, he's fundamentally good at heart."

she said.

It’s so pitiful how frail he is—why must he be like that? Truly, someone who’s done nothing but suffer hardships and endure sadness might even die from it all— Because she kept saying such things, Chiyoko’s doubts grew ever deeper, and her heart’s pity for H continued to develop. Even knowing misfortune would come, could it be I was still heading toward it? Must I become a plaything for the god of fate?

But it doesn’t matter—I’ll fight as much as I can, and if I lose, that will be that.

What! As if someone like me could be in love with H! "That's for the best!" With a frustrated look, she even thought such things. Chiyoko gathered up H's flaws as much as possible and considered them. "He has such habits. He's someone with no room in his heart. He doesn't have nearly as much interest in literature and art as I do." The moment she thought this, she immediately followed it with: "But that's only because the sad and painful experiences of his youth made him that way." By the time this thought formed, it had already transformed into sympathy.

By the time she thought this, it had already transformed into sympathy. “Listen, it’s best for us to stay good friends, don’t you think?” There had been times when she had said such things upon meeting H.

“Mother, you should find a good woman for Mr. H. Otherwise—” “I thought the same and tried suggesting it before too, but he just refuses to listen—he must have someone else in mind…” Hearing this, Chiyoko made a sour face and shook her head. “Listen—Mr. Shinobu sent another letter like last time from that person’s place. What’s wrong with him? He really doesn’t consider the consequences at all…”

“If he considered consequences when writing such letters, he wouldn’t have conceived such notions in the first place—but truly I’ve had enough. Should I just enter a convent?” “That would indeed be best…” Mother laughed without taking it seriously. “Someone like Shinobu—utterly ignorant of the world—yet all he masters is composing those letters—”

Every time Chiyoko went, she would fix them with a trembling, confrontational gaze— “Chiyo-chan”

Being reminded of how he would try calling out "Chiyo-chan" only to turn crimson filled her with visceral disgust. "For you to fall in love is sheer presumption!" There were moments she imagined saying this at their next meeting, laughing in that cruel, derisive manner. "Should I take the plunge—shear my hair short and pass as a man?"

“Ahhh, I do think it would be best if I could just grow old quickly, but—”

"I have received too many special privileges granted only to the young until I grew utterly weary of them; I want to be alone in a quiet place to think what I wish to think." There were moments when Chiyoko felt such overwhelming pressure that she wanted to flee deep into the mountains. At times she would imagine the joy of quietly reading and writing in a crude mountain hut, or walking through groves of trees. H maintained resolute silence about matters he had once broached, as if waiting for some appointed hour—a restraint that paradoxically made Chiyoko dwell on them all the more intensely.

“Mr. H, we’re gradually becoming inseparable friends, aren’t we.”

"But we are undoubtedly friends." "We must ensure we don't bring unhappiness upon each other—isn't that right?"

Chiyoko lived a life teeming with endless considerations, and as if inundated by her thoughts, she declared: “Since I cannot lose myself in passionate love, I shall resolutely refuse it; the path I follow is singular and sufficient.”

“Whether you stay alone or with someone else has nothing to do with me.” “God has fashioned me so that I must—even if it means sacrificing the hearts of men who think obsessively of me—create something nobler and more radiant!” “It’s perfectly acceptable for me to be cruel—the fact that you think of me so deeply must surely be something I ought to sincerely appreciate.” “I care for you deeply—so rather than falling in love—we should help each other and create something noble together.”

Chiyoko thought such things with her broad, man-like forehead. And so, day after day, she wrote as much as she could and read as much as she could.

It was a cold evening; when H came, Chiyoko greeted him with an exceedingly cheerful expression. “Mr. H, lately I’ve completely stopped having things that make me waver or force me into unpleasant feelings…” “Why? Did something happen to make you waver?” “Yes—if I put it this way, you’d understand.” “You know, I’ve been thinking this way lately.” “I can’t fall passionately in love like an ordinary woman—nor like a daughter.”

“But I’ve found something more radiant than love between people—something waiting with open arms for me in a higher place—I—” “Not only could I declare this would let me live a life matching my true purpose, but I could say it would make my heart overflow with radiant light—any woman can fall in love, but not every woman has something awaiting her in the heights—I believe in that truth, and I believe in myself.”

Chiyoko said with a calm, serene gaze—like that of a Christian who could see God—looking slightly downward while clasping her hands. “—And what did I do…—what did I find…” “You will surely find it before long—there’s no doubt—for when one earnestly continues doing what one must, something awaits them in their own hands.” “From now on, we must support each other and live a uniquely happy life—one that no one else could ever replicate.”

Chiyoko said this in a tone unlike her usual self. Feeling as though there was a light above her head, Chiyoko stared fixedly at H's face. "Ah—God..."

H kept his eyes closed and his head bowed, never raising it. “If you would only not forget me, then perhaps that truly would be happiness—we could live harmoniously and thoughtfully—”

After standing silently for a while and raising his face, H—making Chiyoko’s beloved white forehead and thick hair appear noble while smiling faintly around his mouth—said: The two of them resolved from that day forth to forget the mutual confusion they had harbored until now, as though granted new life. Chiyoko ceased being conflicted at her core. Day and night, with eyes shining earnestly, she wrote and read.

When H saw Chiyoko’s face—seeming forgotten yet unforgettable—he felt compelled to repeat what he had said before. When he saw her composed face and eyes that seemed perpetually lost in thought,

“Let’s forget it already.” As for both the words that had been spoken and the woman’s demeanor, he could not bring himself to mention it again. “When the time comes…”

H, clinging to that as his only hope, began visiting Chiyoko’s house more frequently than before. Each time he came, while feeling sad, "But she still likes me; she had said my face looked pale or my eyes seemed to have a headache. I had to be satisfied with that for now. When the time comes—" he kept repeating.

"When the time comes—" While repeating this in his heart, H also sometimes thought—there was a person called Cousin Gen. "Could she have been snatched away…?" While clinging to this fear like ivy on stonework—that Chiyoko might choose another—he frequented her house ever more obsessively.

“Cousin Gen is here today too.” On the day when Chiyoko came out to greet him and said this, H tightened the muscles around his eyes, “So…” he said and glanced around himself. Chiyoko spoke more to H than to Gen. “Lately I’ve been having such strange days—is your head feeling all right?” She also asked such things. For H—who strove not to fall in love even as he anxiously cared for and sympathized with her—the woman’s state of mind, which claimed that doing so would surely lead to unhappiness, remained incomprehensible.

"She really does resemble her mother in some way—" H could only think this; he could not comprehend a woman who was emotional yet contemplated the future. Her father and mother had said, "You only live once, after all—it's best to do all you can. If your body and mind grow healthy, we won't refuse to send you abroad for study, you know—" But Chiyoko had not taken such words at mere face value.

"I am not some ordinary woman who fusses over love.

"I can accomplish something far nobler." "And I will prove it once more!" Even in moving just one hand, Chiyoko kept this conviction.